The Disaster Up North
by jinjyaa
Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Candidate Conrad.
1. The Bell Tolls

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all?

_Author's Notes: _

This is a continuation of my KKM future saga begun with The Bedding of Wolfram and Epilogue. (Reading it from the beginning helps.) See author's profile homepage link for story summaries, illustrations, OC bios, the story list in order, etc. The saga veered off from the anime around episode 70.

This installment is set a couple years after Well of the Five Kings. Yuuri's twenty-six now, Greta twenty.

This chapter dedicated to Pandawolf, for successfully nagging me to write again. _Thank you for caring, Panda!_

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. Its original creator was Tomo Takabayashi, with character design by Temari Matsumoto. The anime was produced by Studio Deen.

**Chapter 1 – The Bell Tolls**

_May 10th…_

The mid-May sunshine dazzled, bees buzzed, colors glistened in the welcome spring warmth, and the fresh scent of riotous flowers wafted into Wolfram's office.

A frazzled Wolfram glowered at the flowers and shut the shutters. He picked up an envelope, lurid with foreign seals, and dropped it back on his desk with a heavy thud. "Günter, I just received this legal tract entitled, _'Royal marriage terms of the Kingdom of Adreshulde'._ Since I'm not sure where Adreshulde is, I'm pretty sure I didn't invite its king to Greta's marriage ball. Yet here is an RSVP on behalf of King Ru… - I can't make out the handwriting - and… Well, I guess this isn't really a marriage proposal, is it? More like _fair warning_. But, why is he coming at all?" he complained.

The hapless protocol officer wrung his wrists in dismay. "It was that _Other,"_ Günter complained shrilly. He pronounced _'Other'_ with that _squeak_ he reserved for his evil twin, from the year the two Günters swapped universes. "My assistants found a list _He_ left lying about, and confused it with _my _handwriting, and..."

Wolfram rubbed his aching brow. _Oh, hells. Yes, I did ask Evil Günter to compile a list of eligible candidates for Greta's hand, to keep him out of trouble. I thought I burned that. _"So, has everyone we _wanted_ been invited?"

"Well, the lists overlapped, but we only realized the mistake last week. I sent the missing invitations by fastest possible courier. But the ball is only ten days away now, so I fear they may be offended! And though some of your top choices may be missing, we may still have a few more people than planned..."

_And the cost of invitations just quadrupled, and I still don't know whether my father and Aldrich will send the wine and flowers I asked for. And, and, and! _The details involved in throwing this ball seemed to multiply like rabbits. And problems he'd thought solved, just kept coming unglued to need solving again. Wolfram rubbed his aching head harder. "Fine, Günter, thank you," he said woodenly.

Günter rose to depart. "And the, um, _flowers?"_ he reminded Wolfram tremulously.

Wolfram slammed his fist down on the desk. _"I'll get the damned flowers!"_ The water in a pitcher on the desk trembled with the blow. "Somehow," he added weakly. Günter fled.

Wolfram slammed open the shutters to glare out at flowers again. Behind him, the water in the pitcher trembled again, then sloshed. The sweetest bell from down in the town rang the hour alone - one toll, though it was nearly eleven. But Wolfram was too busy fuming to notice. "Shinou _damn _you, Aldrich!" he muttered, at his absent liege lord and stepfather, who _should_ have been throwing this marriage ball instead of Wolfram! "Where else am I going to get enough flowers?"

-oOo-

Aldrich Lord Bielenfeld sneezed, which didn't help him gentle his horse. He'd dismounted to wait out the aftershock, only to find the aftershock build to greater intensity than the original earthquake. The ground pitched his groom off his feet, to land in stinging nettles in the ditch by the side of the road. Aldrich struggled to keep his pack mule Clarence and the groom's mount from bolting, as well as his own horse. A huge flock of kohi screamed overhead, _"Bad omen! Bad omen!"_ as they raced due south. When the animals calmed down, it grew eerily silent. In mid-May, birds should have been singing, insects buzzing. But the wind was still, the sun beat down hot, and unearthly quiet reigned amongst the greening potato and lettuce fields along the lane.

"Maybe we should head for Castletown instead, m'lord," the groom suggested uneasily, brushing nettles from his butt.

Aldrich considered this while he used his fire healer gift to soothe the nettle stings on the man's arm. Ordinarily, in time of trouble, he belonged at his desk in Bielenfeld Castle, coordinating from the center. But, he was on vacation. Instead, his husband Manfred, Wolfram's father, ruled at Castletown this month. Aldrich always took vacation the month of May, for his AvB plantation's annual flower show and seed sale. AvB was bucolic Bielenfeld's agricultural research station. Its flower show was its main business event of the year - more for the crop seed than the flowers, though most visitors also bought the festival's fine hanging planters.

When the first temblor hit shortly past dawn, knocking down flowerpots and making a mess of Aldrich's manor kitchen, they didn't think much of it. But as the morning progressed, attendence was down. Aldrich asked after the earthquake, and it seemed to have been weaker in every direction he asked. But no festival-goers and seed-buyers arrived from the north. But nor did riders fly by on the road southwest to report trouble to Castletown. Aldrich was concerned. He knew the Squires who ruled the small northern hill plantations were away, attending a wedding. By mid-morning, he decided to send a messenger to Castletown. But he himself headed north to investigate, leaving the flower show to his factor and kids. His son Dietrich and foster-son Trenton von Gratz were quite the budding young business magnates, and having a ball.

Aldrich sighed. "Due north. The birds were flying due south. That should be away from the epicenter. But we still haven't seen any messengers. We'll keep going, at least until we get word or reach the next plantation town," he decided.

As they rode on up toward the hills of the Wincott border, they still met no traffic headed their way, except the occasional crazed rabbit or fox fleeing south. The mule Clarence, laden with hanging flowerpots, eyed them in wistful envy.

-oOo-

_Three months ago..._

"You're sure, sweetheart?" Wolfram asked, eyes misting, hands on Greta's upper arms. He was so proud of her. He was so scared for her. He wasn't ready. She'd grown up so fast. But grown up she had. She was twenty. _She_ was ready.

Greta nodded, big brown eyes also shining with emotion, gazing into Wolfram's great green eyes. "I'm sure, Chichiue Wolfram. I'm ready to look for a husband. A royal match. Will you help me tell Wimpue - er, Yuuri?"

It was a tired joke. But they were so over-keyed that they laughed aloud, and fell into each other's arms. "Of course, sweetling. Anything for you. And I will throw you _the_ most gorgeous ball in living memory! And you shall have _the_ most beautiful dress! And we shall find you the _greatest_ king - _**not!**_" Greta pulled away to look at him in question. He continued, "We'll find you a royal husband to _love._ Like I have."

They were so happy that day, Wolfram and Greta. So optimistic, so certain of the loving support of their family, and of Greta's bright prospects. Despite the demise of those plans, Wolfram would always treasure the shining dreams they spun together that day. The colors and music and swirling dresses of that imagined ball danced like jewels in his memory, as though it had really happened. As Yuuri's political advisor, he'd long honed a list of candidates for Princess Greta's hand in marriage. Lying cozily across her bed for their confidences, he shyly shared the list with her that day. He briefed her on his favorite prospects among them.

Wolfram kept that list as a keepsake all his life, as a mother might save her daughter's engraved wedding invitation.

This was back in February.

-oOo-

"Mm," responded Yuuri. Of course Greta and Wolfram went to him first, with their big announcement. He rose from his desk, kissed Wolfram tenderly, and murmured, "May I have a moment alone with Greta, love?"

Wolfram thought that was so sweet! He smiled encouragement at Greta. He beamed approval at Yuuri. He left.

"Well?" said Greta, unable to contain herself any longer. "Do I have your blessing, Yuuri?"

Yuuri put his hands on her arms much the same way Wolfram had. He gazed into her eyes much the same way Wolfram had.

And he said, "As your father? Greta… We outgrew that years back, didn't we? I'm more like an older brother. If this is what you want, OK. Just know that you don't have to do this. Our alliances among the humans are excellent. There's nothing you need to prove, nothing you need to accomplish. I know Wolfram's serious about duty and honor and stuff. I just want you to be happy. I hope you'll marry someone because you want to spend your life with him."

Greta nodded bravely. But inside, her heart sank. Yuuri not only refused to give his blessing as her father, but he good as told her that he didn't need her help. No wonder he'd sent Wolfram out of the room first.

Later, she smiled, and told Wolfram that Yuuri was a romantic. He wanted her to fall in love and marry like they had. If she told him the truth about what Yuuri had said, the two of them would just fight.

-oOo-

Gwendal twitched. Then he rallied and imperiously held out a hand for Wolfram's list of candidates. He pronounced the list well-considered. He ponderously told Greta that he applauded her resolve to do her duty by Shin Makoku. He reminded her gruffly that she could always rely on her family here. Wherever she might go, he - _they_ would protect her.

As Greta turned to go, Gwendal suddenly rose and drew her back into a hug. She wasn't sure, but she thought he whispered, with a catch in his voice, "I'll miss you!" But then he cleared his throat. He sat back down to his desk and rustled papers.

She glanced back at him on their way out the door. _He acted more like my father than Yuuri did,_ she thought sadly. _He _**is** _more like a father to me. I wish I'd realized that before..._

-oOo-

Conrad stared at her strangely for a few moments. Greta couldn't decipher the expression. But Yozak, Conrad's long-time companion, seemed to read it like a book. He glowered at Conrad.

Conrad glared back at him, then bowed to Greta. "Well, isn't that interesting."

'_Interesting'? _ thought Greta.

Conrad also held out a hand for Wolfram's list of marriage prospects. He skimmed it briefly, then penned in three more candidates at the end.

Wolfram hid them from Greta. "Just political suggestions," he dismissed airily. Later Greta caught a glance.

_Conrad Lord Weller_

_Adelbert von Gratz_

_Murata Ken_

Greta wondered if she'd ever feel comfortable in a room with any of the three men again. And Murata was married to Giesela! Though, they _had_ been estranged for an awfully long time now, ever since Uncle Ken adopted the baby centaur Lucy without consulting his wife first. He'd been living in Trondheim ever since. Giesela refused to join him there, or acknowledge Lucy as her child. Adelbert was still single, with Wolfram and Yuuri helping him raise his half-human daughter Frieda, by the pirate Ethel. And Conrad… apparently never intended to marry Yozak.

_Things that make you go, 'Hm!', _ Greta thought unhappily.

-oOo-

Cecilie was more socially gifted than her elder sons. She said all the right things, even if she meant none of them. Then she drew Greta aside to have a word alone, just as Yuuri had. "Whatever happens," she advised, "be sure to give them a test ride in bed first, before agreeing to a betrothal. That's a smart girl." Which left Greta fighting herself the rest of the day, trying not to imagine whether Gwendal's father had been adequate in bed. Or worse, imagining… _giving a test ride in bed… _to Uncle Conrad or Adelbert - Chichibert, as the children called him. _He's so... big._

Annissina shrugged and said, "Marriage is over-rated." She gradually gathered wind in her sails, and launched into a lecture about how marriage was unnecessary to a strong woman. But if Greta intended to marry, be sure to marry a man whose power, wealth, and social position she could leverage to further the feminist cause. Take Gwendal, for instance - an obedient man of truly _useful _connections. Greta fled, feeling quite sorry for poor Gwendal.

Giesela said Greta was smart to get an arranged marriage. Let an objective, experienced third party figure out who she'd be happy with in the long run. Greta was lucky - surely Aldrich Lord Bielenfeld himself, the best marriage broker of them all, would decide her future for her. Nobody thought straight during a romance, and she shouldn't trust her own judgment. _Especially _when considering a match with a foreigner. Greta wondered if Murata Ken knew Giesela felt this way. She sadly suspected that he did know, and no longer cared.

The cook Sanguria and her henchwomen Lasagna and Doria smiled their very best servant smiles, curtseyed brightly, and chorused, "Congratulations, Princess Greta!" They continued beaming happily at her, all in a row, hands clasped properly before them, as Greta walked away down the hall. Before she made it around the corner, they squealed into a huddle to debate the possibilities, and opened the latest betting pool.

Günter carried on as though her marriage were all about Yuuri. But then, he always did that.

When Wolfram went up to Bielenfeld, on his public health and welfare work, Greta chickened out and stayed behind. She'd never been sure what Wolfram's father Manfred thought of her. He was friendly, but discouraged her from calling him _'grandfather'_. But more, she hadn't the heart to tell Wolfram's younger half-brother Efram. When they'd met, Efram was the older, wiser kid, showing her the ropes. Then he developed romantic feelings as her body blossomed into a teen, though he tried to hide it. Now, Greta was a grown woman. Demon Efram was still an adolescent at age fifty-five, the equivalent of a human 14-year-old boy. He'd congratulate her, certainly. And he'd smile and crack jokes. But Greta knew he wouldn't really mean it.

-oOo-

"_May_ twentieth," repeated Wolfram's father Lord Manfred von Bielenfeld, in a tone suddenly gone frigid. "Who in _hell_ is Greta's marriage broker?"

"W-well," stammered Wolfram, taken aback at his father's vehemence, "I assumed Aldrich..."

Aldrich, ruling Lord Bielenfeld, was Wolfram's liege lord and stepfather. Aldrich was also the _premier_ Aristocratic marriage broker in Shin Makoku. Of course Wolfram expected Aldrich to broker Princess Greta's marriage!

"Aldrich will not be attending. Nor will I."

_"What!"_

"The AvB plantation annual flower show is in May. I'll be ruling Bielenfeld while Aldrich's busy."

Wolfram catapulted from astonishment to fury. "Aldrich's _flower show_ is more important than Greta's _marriage!?_ How dare you!"

"Wolfram, the _marriage broker_ sets the date and venue for the ball," Manfred pointed out. He wasn't particularly nice about it, still offended that Wolfram would _assume _ Aldrich's social services were at his beck and call. _I don't give a damn who you sleep with. You're Alrich's __**vassal, **__not his __**boss**__, petty vixen! _"Besides," Manfred added, with a dismissive wave of his hand, "all Aldrich's human friends died years ago. Conrad or Adelbert would make a better broker for Greta."

To a Bielenfeld, this was simply stating the obvious. Befriending humans was the sort of youthful adventure most sensible demons outgrew as their human friends died off. Aldrich was approaching his quarter millenium. That phase died over a century ago, and all his human friends along with it. And as a marriage broker, one hired flunkies to handle trivia like procuring the wine and flowers. The broker's role was to understand the needs and desires and personalities of all parties, to harmonize a suitable and successful long term match. Aldrich's _contacts_ made him Shin Makoku's top Aristocratic matchmaker.

None of which Wolfram understood yet. So the conversation caromed rapidly downhill. Wolfram left Bielenfeld in a huff as soon as possible. He'd barely spoken to Manfred and Aldrich since. And he declared _himself _ Greta's marriage broker.

-oOo-

_May 11th..._

Aldrich was quite enjoying himself. He hadn't ridden this way north to Wincott in a long time, though he used to do it often while his father Friedrich still ruled Bielenfeld. Elliot Lord Wincott Regent was his father-in-law, from his first disastrous marriage to Glynda von Wincott. She liked to ride home this way to visit him when Aldrich could spare the time to take her. He liked the sparsely-settled hill plantations. Less formal than the huge and wealthy plantations of the Bielenfeld lowlands, they reminded him of his years as Regent for his cousin General Adelbert, visiting among the rustic and independent Gratz rangeland towns.

The first plantation they reached late last night. That was simple enough to set right. The factor was away with the Squire's family, leaving his 80-year-old son in charge, who didn't like to make a fool of himself reporting trouble when everything seemed under control. And under control it seemed to be. There was substantial damage to the manor, and more people injured because they were repairing the damage from the first shock when the second hit. Aldrich and the factor's apprentice had an easy chat about what he should and shouldn't attempt construction-wise this week. And since he was there, Aldrich quickly healed some compound fractures that would have taken weeks to heal under the plantation true healer's care. Another horse and messenger were dispatched to report to Castletown, and Aldrich was on the road north again at dawn.

So despite rockfalls on the lanes and downed trees and broken chimneys and porches here and there, he expected much the same when they reached the next plantation, Biergarten. But as he approached the manor, people seemed strangely subdued. A boy ran to fetch Someone in Authority as usual, but he more loped than ran. Strangely many of the farm animals were lying down. Come to think of it, all the cattle had been lying down in the fields as well, and no one out minding them.

"Thank Shinou you're here, m'Lord!" cried the local healer, shuffling out onto the crazy-tilted earthquake-heaved manor verandah. She didn't look well. "We've been wondering whether to send for help, but…" She threw up her hands in tired dismay. To Aldrich's attentive concentration, the worthy woman offered up a seemingly endless litany of odd symptoms. Essentially, everyone was sick and tired all of a sudden, including the animals. She was well trained as a healer – for the remote plantations, Manfred recruited some of Bielenfeld's very best, since they had no backup near at hand. She'd tried and failed to find a particular cause of the general malaise.

They were interrupted by a cry of, "Heya! You fool mule!" from Aldrich's groom. "Ach, sorry, m'Lord. This mule's that picky. Won't touch the water, won't touch the hay they brought him. And now Clarence's eaten your sweet pea flowers we brung for Lord Elliot." He cordially swotted Clarence across the nose.

Clarence looked unrepentent. Aldrich laughed. Then he frowned. Their horses were watered, but hanging their heads, no longer eating the hay laid before them. The groom was right. Clarence was notoriously picky, but if he felt the water or hay was bad, he was usually right. Aldrich looked up at the hills ringing the plantation's central bowl-shaped valley. He considered what everyone here had been exposed to. _ Food, but everyone ate something different. Water, but from different sources. Air..._

"Get out," Aldrich suddenly said. "Everyone out. I want this valley evacuated, as quickly as possible. You'll need to bring food and drink. Bring only supplies sealed before the earthquakes yesterday - beer casks, milk over two days old and sealed for market, canned goods. Other than that, bring as little as possible. You may have to walk to the next plantation."

"What in Shinou's name?" cried the indignant old factor. He'd joined the discussion on the porch while the healer told her tale of woe. "We're in no shape to walk that far!"

"Bad air," explained Aldrich. "There are gases trapped beneath the earth, old and strange, some of them very poisonous. I think the earthquake broke open some poison gas underground, and flooded your valley with it. It's the very air here that's making you ill, and seeping into the water and food. You've got to get out as quickly as possible. The longer you stay here, the sicker you'll get, until you're too weak to escape."

Such was the time-tested authority of the von Bielenfelds, that they believed him. They mobilized quickly to do as he bid. Of course, informing and evacuating the entire plantation was easier said than done. But the healthiest horses and riders were dispatched within minutes, and the column of sickly refugees was moving out within hours.

"What, we're not going with them?" cried Aldrich's amazed groom. "You said they had to flee south because the very air was poison! Surely we're not still going north!"

Not only were they still headed north, but Aldrich recruited a young army veteran to join them, with medic training. "The air should be alright outside this bowl of hills," said Aldrich. "There's only one plantation left before Winvale, and we can heal along the way. With two healers, it should be safer."

-oOo-

_May 12th..._

After his customary evening bedtime chat with Greta, Yuuri paused outside his and Wolfram's bedroom door, three very formal bound marriage proposals tucked under his arm. He hadn't brought _those_ with him to Greta's room, only mentioned them in passing. _Her ticket to stay home... _He reconsidered his decision to discuss this with Wolfram at bedtime. Instead of, say, in Yuuri's office, with the door open, to force Wolfram to maintain decorum.

_Nah. He'd lose it, anyway, and probably offend Conrad and Gwendal as well. Offend them __**more**__... Besides, this is a family affair, not a matter of state._ Although, when it came to the hand of the Princess in marriage... _It is __**not**__ a matter of state,_ Yuuri firmly denied. He took a deep breath and pressed into his bedroom, to confront his political advisor, life partner, and beloved.

The bed was already turned down, glasses of water on the nightstands. Wolfram lay langorously across the middle of the bed, filing his impeccably groomed fingernails, silky pink nightgown fetchingly askew. His hair curled faintly damp from the bath. Satiny skin gleamed with ginger-pineapple bath oil, in the warm light of dozens of candles. As Yuuri entered, Wolfram fairly glowed at him. He palmed the nail file, arched his neck and shoulders back, and stretched a bare leg out further. _Let's play tonight, Yuuri..._ "You had a long talk with Greta," Wolfram invited.

_Let's not play tonight, _Yuuri sighed. "Well, we had a lot to talk about." Yuuri placed the three bound volumes on the foot of the bed. "Your brother Conrad and I _also_ had a great deal to talk about this afternoon. When he brought me these. Marriage proposals from Adelbert, Murata Ken, and Conrad himself. He believed I was expecting them. He was profoundly _offended_ that it was all news to me. Apparently, Greta also knew. _Wolfram. _You should have told me."

Wolfram's defensiveness bristled like a porcupine. Head snapped forward, eyebrows jutting in a sharp V of anger. His leg and bared shoulder, however, sketched a more aggressively sensual pose. "Greta can do better. With a marriage to a _human _head of state. I've considered their requests, and rejected them."

Yuuri yanked off his purple _shawl of Maouitude_, as he thought of it, tossed it on a bedpost, and proceeded to undress for bed. "You have _not_ considered their requests, Wolfram. Conrad just got back from Trondheim _today,_ and delivered them to me straightaway. _These _proposals. Which are _sincere_ and carefully developed, and deserve our careful review and consideration in return."

"Hmph!" Wolfram snorted. "_I_ am Greta's marriage broker –"

"Only because you offended Aldrich," Yuuri muttered. "You're Greta's marriage broker by _mistake. _Wolfram, think. If Aldrich _were_ Greta's broker, wouldn't he offer Greta an option to stay home in Shin Makoku? Granted, he'd probably discourage Adelbert's suit." _For the same reason he'd never have approved of our marriage, a human to a full-blood demon, growing old on different timescales._ "But only after respectful consideration, and a meeting, to give Adelbert face. Personally, I think Adelbert's daughter would love it, but the rest of his family would be adamantly opposed. Conrad and Murata are good options, though. Marrying one of them would let Greta stay in Shin Makoku with high rank. Especially Murata –"

"_'Especially Murata'_! How can you say that, Yuuri! He's your age, and he's married to Giesela!"

Yuuri twitched an eyebrow up. "_Murata_ and _I_ are only six years older than Greta. We're the _perfect_ age to marry her." _Your denial notwithstanding, Wolfram. Murata and I are aging as humans. While you seem younger and more unreasonable all the time..._ "I'm a better age to marry Greta, than to pretend to be her father. Giesela and Murata are never going to get back together. That's explained in the proposals that my _best friends_ took great time and care to prepare –"

"And _Conrad!_ It's obscene. He's her uncle, and he's in love with Yozak –"

"_Also_ covered in this thoughtful document. _Conrad_ offers to forsake all others, and handsomely fund his _Lady_ to build a castle, to become the Weller domain seat by Lutenberg. Only a couple hours' ride from here on horseback. Actually, he offers Greta that whether she marries Conrad or Adelbert. Greta's eyes lit up when I told her Conrad offered to let her design and build her own castle –"

"You told _Greta!?"_

"Of course I told Greta, obviously you weren't thinking straight. They'd allow her to stay here, near her family. You only want to marry her off to a foreigner, in some silly marriage of state. _I_ told her to marry for her happiness. _I _don't need her to marry for some political alliance." He kicked his pants off and under the bed.

"Sweet Shinou, Yuuri!" Wolfram cried, aghast. His aggressive sex kitten pose vanished, and he leaned forward in honest horror. "Please tell me you didn't say that to Greta!"

"Of course I said that to Greta. I've told her that from the first. I don't need her help with my human allies." The husbands locked eyes, Yuuri glaring and Wolfram stricken. "And _I don't. Need her help. With my human allies._" At age twenty-six now, Maou Yuuri and normal Yuuri looked the same. And standing there buck naked didn't diminish Yuuri's look of Maou authority one iota.

"But that's - !" Words failed Wolfram, how to express the hurt, the emotional _sabotage_, of Yuuri's complete inability to comprehend the _honor_ and _dignity_ of a Lady Aristocrat giving her feminine all for Shin Makoku. _She's not a Tokyo housewife like your Mom! _Wolfram dropped his face into the bedding. "Yuuri, you _idiot!"_

Yuuri shoved Wolfram over by the shoulder, turned him turtle to lie face up, and straddled him on the bed. "I don't prefer to be called an idiot any more, Wolfram," he said firmly. "My choices are not yours. And Greta understood me." Wolfram perforce gazed up at him, green eyes looking hurt, his fists and legs pinned. "I've already read these proposals, and find them to have great merit. You will read them tomorrow, carefully, and discuss their details with Greta. _She_ will choose among _all_ her suitors, _fully informed_ of their offers. And you will respond to Lord Weller, Lord von Gratz, and the Great Sage Murata Ken, in this as in all matters, with the deference and respect they are _due_. Understood, pretty vixen?"

Wolfram clenched his eyes shut in a pained grimace. _Not even my father dismisses me like that any more, calling me 'pretty vixen', like a... spoiled brat. At least... not as often. _ "Understood," he muttered in defeat.

"I don't suppose you want to have sex tonight?" Yuuri offered, in an attempt to put this argument behind them.

Wolfram cracked open one baleful green eye to assess Yuuri's sincerity. _He's relieved to have an excuse not to have sex tonight. These days, four or five times a week is enough. More than that and he feels like I'm being a... pest. _ He shut his eye again and turned his head away. "Not tonight, dear. I have a headache."

Yuuri snorted wry appreciation. _Never let __**me**__ be the one to turn __**you**__ down, eh? Don't ever change, Wolfram. I mean that, my beautiful vengeful sex kitten. _

As he rose to his hands and knees, and raised a leg to unstraddle Wolfram, the bed jarred violently underneath him and pitched him forward flat, to land with crotch on Wolfram's face. All the clock bells in the town below rang out alarums.

"Well, I suppose I could change my mind," observed Wolfram dryly, planting a kiss on Yuuri's accidentally offered part.

But Yuuri's mind was elsewhere. "Earthquake. Big one. Far away," he considered slowly. "But probably still within Shin Makoku." He vaguely assumed his youth in earthquake-ridden Japan informed this intuition, though in fact his Maou knowledge was far more direct, if unconscious.

"Shin Makoku doesn't have earthquakes," Wolfram scoffed. His mind wasn't on the earthquake. Earthquakes in his experience involved ripples on water. Or Maou temper tantrums.

Despite Wolfram's encouraging efforts, Yuuri apologetically shifted his pelvis up and away. "Well, I suppose we'll find out in the morning, what damage and where. Better get some sleep."

-oOo-

The bells rang throughout Shin Makoku, as far away as the Khrennikov and Donaghie coasts. For the rest of their long lives, Mazoku remembered where they'd been, the night the bells tolled, much the way Americans remembered what they were doing when they learned that JFK had been shot, or that hijacked planes had crashed into the World Trade Center. Though the Mazoku remembered two different sets of bells. In Bielenfeld and Wincott, people counted time instead from the first earthquake, early on a beautiful carefee May morning, two days before. There, tonight's bells more crashed than rang, as slender clock towers cracked and crumpled.

-oOo-

Aldrich snicked his little blade closed, and ran a finger slowly along the lines he'd carved in the tree, a tender lover's touch._ AvB loves MvB, _with the date. _Our child tree. Manfred's and mine. We made this seed a few years after Efram was born. I gave him space then, thinking maybe he and Dionne would marry after all. They enjoyed caring for the baby together so much. I thought I'd lost Manfred then. But no. The seeds that planted this glade were from the month of our reunion..._

There was no shelter for the night. Derringer, the last Bielenfeld plantation, had been deserted except for the dead, the people all fled, probably north to Winvale. From here, even to send for help from Bielenfeld Castletown, they'd head for the Wincott capital. Winvale lay on the great Donza River, an easy glide downstream to Castletown. In an emergency, Elliot Lord Wincott would lend a majutsu-powered launch to speed the trip. _Elliot's our only hope, too, now._

They'd pressed on, to rest for the night in this glade on the Wincott border. Aldrich had hoped the glade would be healthy, that the life majutsu from his child-trees would shield them. He seemed to be right. Even picky-picky Clarence approved. The mule hadn't deemed any grass fit to eat since before Biergarten, the first stricken plantation, and refused to drink anything except their casked beer. But here Clarence was happily munching away, and even drank from a little spring. The medic and the groom were already passed out on the ground. They too had guzzled beer all day. They only carried enough distilled water for Aldrich, who couldn't – _wouldn't_ – touch the beer.

Aldrich placed his fingertips in the grooves of Manfred's initials, carved into the great sassafras tree, and lay his hot throbbing forehead against the cool herringbone of gray bark. _Will he come this way straightaway? If he knows I'm dead, trying to find me anyway? No, he'd wait. The crisis would be over. A month? No, five or ten years, I should think. At first, suddenly thrust into ruling the domain in such a mess, a single parent with four kids at home, he'd be too busy._ Aldrich caressed the fresh scratches of the word _'loved'_, breathed deeply of the sassafras and green smell, like a soft spring rain, so like the scent of his and Manfred's lovemaking. _When he's ready to move on, to say good-bye to me so he can love another. That's when he'll come this way, see this grove, touch these lines. Alone, I think. He wouldn't bring the children along, not for that trip. Not to let their other father go._

Aldrich pressed his forehead into the bark, willing Manfred to feel his love for him across time. He traced the initials as though tracing Manfred's ear, down his neck, feeling his caress in return, treasuring a body, a person, a soul, dearer to him than any other. Tears ran down his cheeks.

_I'm so sorry, Manfred. I screwed up. I don't think we're going to make it. I won't give up. With my last breath I'll still be trying to make it back to you. But if you're reading this, if you're touching this tree, thinking of me as I'm thinking of you... I didn't make it. Don't bother looking for bones. This is all you need._

_See you on the other side, love._

Outside the sheltered glade, drifting down like snowflakes from the silent starry sky, the ash began to fall.

-oOo-

_AN: So, think this story has promise? Please review!!! Reviews fuel further chapters (or another story...)_

_Oh, and for a while longer, there's a poll on my profile, asking what story you'd like next in my KKMverse. Not too late to vote yet! This story may address several winning topics._

_Please review?_


	2. SemiInvited Guests

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Prospect Number Four.

_AN:_ This chapter is dedicated to Lokemele, for telling me about vog, which led me to research volcanos more.

**Chapter 2 –Semi-Invited Guests**

-oOo-

_The ground began to shake on August 20, and the earthquakes continued for four days. Some people fled, but unfortunately, many stayed behind._

Then, in the afternoon of August 24, Vesuvius erupted in a fury of fire from the center of the Earth. A plume of smoke shot nearly 20 miles upward, spreading to block the sun and the sky, turning the day to night.

For 19 hours, hell rained down on this corner of the Roman Empire, burying 1,000 square miles under as much as 75 feet of volcanic ash and cinders. Every living thing perished.

The year was AD 79, and when the air finally cleared, Pompeii, Herculaneum and nearby villages were...gone.

_(cruise broker 's email newsletter, 2008-07-03)_

-oOo-

_May 13th…_

Thomas, valet and head servant to the family von Bielenfeld, sat patiently in the Maou's waiting room. He debated from time to time, rising to push his way toward the head of the queue of official messengers, bearing news from every corner of Shin Makoku. He did _have_ a very important official letter to deliver to the Maou. But the Maou was swamped with earthquake situation reports. And Thomas' primary errand was of a personal nature. Aldrich and Manfred's baby Avram – Wolfram's youngest half-brother – was cross-fostered with Yuuri and Wolfram's adopted son Bertram. And for the moment, Avram was sound asleep on Thomas' shoulder, thumb firmly plugged into his rosebud mouth. Time enough to deliver the letter when Avram woke from his nap. Babies were so happy and pleasant when fresh from their naps. A Lord von Bielenfeld must always present himself at his very best. Even if the Lord in question was very small.

Of course, resting in this particular spot also gave the servant all the intelligence he needed to gather for Lord Manfred, currently at wits' end in Castletown. Thomas was grateful for the chance to do so seated for a change.

Thomas' immediate neighbors were less appreciative of the comfy chairs.

"_Daddy, _when are we going to get _out _of here? We've been waiting _forever!" _pleaded the girl – a 25 year old to Thomas' eye, so perhaps she was 6, for clearly they were humans. Poor thing. She was dressed gorgeously. But from the salt rime on her oppressively heavy dark purple velvet dress, and drooping ribbons in her red-brown mashed curls, she'd been traveling far too long. Some children whined after 10 minutes of entertainment failure. But Thomas read this one as a child of exemplary patience, pushed beyond the endurable limit. "Can't you just _tell_ them that we're –"

"No," her father cut her off, not so much unkind, as expecting to be obeyed without question. Daddy was an interesting one. He couldn't sit still, often back up on his feet and pacing, while his poor little daughter slumped down her seat and gazed morosely at her doll. He looked Lord Manfred's age. Maybe 30, in a human? The human-demon age equivalents were shaky below 100, and all but useless for older men. Darker brown curls than his daughter, cut short except for a narrow little ducktail braid at the back. Strong square features, marred by a scar from eye to jawline. Swarthy skin once weatherworn. Middling height borne with erect posture, he had an air of command. Clothes fit by the finest tailors, in a foreign style – charcoal jacket button-breasted, but falling open into long tails, over a purple cummerbund, topping soft ruched charcoal slacks and suede half-boots. Expensive clothes, worn by someone who didn't care about them. _A confident Lord, or merchant prince, among the humans,_ Thomas hazarded.

The man relented to explain to his daughter, "The Maou Yuuri clearly has a crisis to deal with today. I would think less of him if he dealt with unexpected guests before the welfare of his people. We simply picked a bad day to visit."

Thomas suspected this flew over the little girl's head. He leaned over to say kindly, "Hello, my name is Thomas. Is this your first visit to Shin Makoku? I bet you'd enjoy a Maou bun." He waved down the maid Doria scurrying by, and requested Maou buns and tea for three.

The human father quirked a lip in half-smile. "Thank you. Thomas, was it? Yes, first time in Shin Makoku. For both of us."

Her father thus having sanctioned speaking to him, the girl perked right up. "I'm Liesel. Daddy's King of Adreshulde. We're here to meet the Princess! I need a new Mommy."

"Liesel!" the man rebuked her. "That's next week, anyway. _Today,_ we need to pay our respects to the Maou, and request permission to visit Bielenfeld."

"Ah, Bielenfeld is where _I'm_ from!" Thomas confided to Liesel, attempting to model _how to speak to a child_. "In fact, I need to go back soon. I may have to take my turn with the Maou first, Liesel, so I don't miss my ride," he said apologetically. "This isn't such a good time to visit Bielenfeld. Things are a big mess there now."

"'Cause of the earthquake?" asked the girl sadly. Even she understood enough of the chaos swirling around her to tell that much.

"Yes. You're very smart, Liesel. Ah, thank you, Doria!" He beckoned with crooked finger to whisper in her ear. Doria's eyes popped wide, and she rushed away on her new errands.

Once they'd helped themselves to tea and buns, Thomas asked, "And what would you do in Bielenfeld, Liesel? Maybe I could think of another fun place, where things aren't so noisy."

Liesel rolled her eyes glumly to her father, speaking volumes of what fun she thought _his_ plans were.

The king replied, "I wish to speak to Lord Bielenfeld –"

"Hello, hello!" interrupted Yuuri, striding out of his situation room, directly toward the human king. Greta, with baby Ekaterin in her arms, and Frieda, Grendel, and Bertram in tow, hustled in from another direction, not far behind him. "Ah, I'm Shibuya Yuuri, Maou of Shin Makoku. I'm told – haha! – you are... perhaps the King of Oddschuldie? Sorry! We don't normally, ah, park foreign heads of state in the waiting room!" He offered his hand to shake with a warm smile. "I wasn't expecting you. Ah – was I?"

"Robichaud, King of Adreshulde," the human replied, holding right arm out and up at a right angle, left palm touching nose and forehead. Then he dropped his own custom and held out a hand to shake with Yuuri's, to honor his custom.

But Yuuri was distracted. For of course, Thomas also rose and bowed. This sudden change of attitude woke Avram, who stretched – without removing thumb from mouth – then opened his huge tilted emerald eyes with a beatific smile. "Thomas! Avram! What are you doing here? Ah! Rubi...? Excuse me, Your Highness!" Yuuri suspected Günter might have mentioned _Adreshulde_ once in his lessons. The right angled elbow plus nose salute thing was vaguely familiar. No further details crept to mind, however.

Greta unwittingly offered him a save from having missed the foreign king's name. "Did you say, _'Robichaud'_?" she asked wonderingly. Once, she'd suggested _Robichaud_ as a name for the dragon Neville, who spent the Dragon Insurrection perched atop Castle Bielenfeld. Whenever she thought of an overly romantic, princely, heroic guy's name, she thought, _'Robichaud'. _She didn't remember why – maybe a human fairy tale when she was small. But the man at hand didn't look one bit like a '_Robichaud'._

"And my daughter Liesel," Robichaud agreed.

Greta couldn't resist. Perhaps it was the years of Efram's influence. "Hello, Liesel. You wouldn't happen to have a pet, would you?" _Named Pochi?_

"He died in the earthquake with Mommy," Liesel replied.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" said Greta, taken aback.

"But I have my dolly," Liesel offered, holding up the doll to view. "I call her Patchi."

Greta smiled in relief and amusement. _Robichaud, Liesl, and Pochi! _"Patchi's a fine doll! Isn't she, Frieda?" Adelbert's strawberry-blonde half-human hellion, about the same size as Liesel, nodded half-heartedly. She would have preferred a pet.

"Greta-chan, perhaps Princess Liesel would enjoy a tour of the castle," suggested Yuuri. He leaned down to say, "My waiting room must have been very boring for you, Liesel. I'm sorry."

Liesel blinked and drew back, clearly unused to important grownups addressing her, much less apologizing. Robichaud put his hand on her shoulder and gave her an encouraging little squeeze. She gulped and curtseyed to Yuuri.

"We'd be most grateful," agreed Robichaud, steering Liesel toward Greta and the other children. "Oh, and Gretchen, if you could find playclothes for Liesel – much obliged." And he turned back to Yuuri, clearly dismissing _'Gretchen'_ for a nanny.

Greta's mouth dropped open. But Thomas had spotted Annissina and General von Dienst, in civvies, pushing into Gwendal's office. "Yes, _Gretchen,_" he prompted her with a wink, senior servant to 'junior servant'. "Matters here aren't so edifying for our young guest." Greta flushed, but took the hint, and herded the children off.

Yuuri missed the hint, that matters here might be _too edifying_ for their royal guest. Robichaud was frankly enjoying his lapse in judgment, looking alert and interested in _everything._ "Well –" began Yuuri.

"_Manfred did WHAT?!" _Gwendal bellowed in his office.

Yuuri pursed his lips, turned back to Robichaud, and began, "Well –"

"Excuse me, Sire," interrupted Thomas, with another bow. "But I need to leave with Squire von Dienst as soon as he's finished with Lord Walde. I promised Lord Manfred that I'd place Avram directly in your arms," he did so, "to take a weight off his mind. Lord Manfred's beside himself, what with the poisoned refugees, and Lord Aldrich missing. We left Avram's things in the nursery. You'll be good, won't you, Foxy? Yes, you're always good!" And he kissed Avram on the forehead.

Avram gazed at Thomas with glowing green eyes. He turned them on Yuuri. His brow crumpled in consternation. He sucked his thumb harder to soothe himself.

"Ah, hello, Avram," Yuuri said. After a moment's consideration, he also kissed Avram's forehead. Avram scowled and sucked his thumb harder. "Thomas... Did you say Aldrich... is missing?"

General von Dienst exited Gwendal's office with a parting shot. "That's right, Lord Walde. You _don't _have any say about it. If you can't wait for Teodor, let _Adelbert_ run the army." Annissina remained behind for a moment, blocking the doorway to have a few more choice words with her husband. "Ah, Thomas, good! We leave in ten minutes. Where's Wolfram? Sire, I'm sorry about this, I... Sorry."

Yuuri could be forgiven for not recognizing the small grandfatherly blond until now. He didn't recall seeing his top general out of uniform before. "Ah... what? Why..."

Von Dienst shook his head in disgust. "Communications shot to _hell_. Sire. The epicenter of these earthquakes is in Wincott. And where do I hear it from? Alana Lady _Trondheim_, and Lord Aldrich's _valet._ I'm returning with the Wincott and Bielenfeld armies, as per Lord Manfred's request. General Lord Teodor von Trondheim will be here soon to relieve me, but I can't wait for him. When I return to duty... maybe we'll swap off." Toward the end there, the man seemed to be talking to himself, grimly. He brightened when Wolfram appeared, having fetched Conrad, Adelbert, and Günter, their experts on human protocol. "Wolfram, where's your kit? We're leaving in 10 minutes."

"Wait – _what?_" demanded Yuuri and Wolfram.

"A letter for you, Sire, from Lord Manfred," murmured Thomas, handing it over. "Lord Wolfram is recalled to Bielenfeld, as Lord of Public Health and Welfare, effective immediately."

"He can't do that!" cried Wolfram.

"Yes, he can," chorused Adelbert, Conrad, Gwendal, and Annissina. The latter pair had finally joined them. Gwendal added in stern rebuke to his younger brother, "With Aldrich missing, your father is your liege lord, Wolfram."

Yuuri finished reading the letter, with growing concern, and handed it off to Wolfram and Gwendal. "Yes, he can," Yuuri confirmed.

In the silent pause while the brothers read the letter, General von Dienst finally got a look at Robichaud, and frowned. "Excuse me, have we met?"

"Robichaud, King of Adreshulde," he replied, with a slight bow. "And you would be – General von Dienst, head of the Shin Makoku army?" _Pause. _"But I seem to have... caught you on your way out?" _Pause._ "Might I catch a ride with you to Bielenfeld?"

He had time to ask all these questions, because Gregor von Dienst was still speechless, nigh unto apoplexy. Günter and Conrad looked, well, _horrified, _ as well. Yuuri began to suspect that perhaps Robichaud, King of Adreshulde, was not perceived as a _friend_.

But Adelbert stepped forward. "No! Is it? Look at you, little Prince 'Chaud, all grown up! Now, how do you do this again?" He slapped palm to nose and forehead, crooked an elbow to the side and down, and hopped on one foot.

Robichaud laughed and repeated the gesture correctly. "Now what was the one you taught me, from your land?" And he boffed right shoulders with Adelbert in the Shin Makoku eastern-mountain buddy greeting. "Good to see you again, Adelbert! Been a long time! I hadn't heard you'd repatriated." His dubious tone reminded them how unlikely Adelbert's repatriation had once seemed.

"Yeah, years ago, not long after _our_ campaign together. How're Desirea and the kids?"

The light went out in Robichaud's smile. "My daughter Liesel's here with me – she's six now. Desirea and my son Chaudelaine... died last year. Crushed, in an earthquake."

"Oh! I'm so sorry, Chaud!" After a solemn pause, Adelbert ventured, "Sire, things are quite hectic here, and require your attention. Perhaps I could host King Robichaud for the afternoon for you?"

"Ah, yes, please, Lord Adelbert. King Robichaud, I'm sure Adelbert can make you at home in our castle. You and I can visit when things are less... hectic. But at least – haha! – you don't need to sit around in my waiting room. And going to Bielenfeld... also seems complicated. I'll have to get back to you on that one."

Robichaud shrugged assent. Adelbert led him off. Once they were around the bend, Yuuri mused, "Sometimes I have so many questions, I don't know where to begin... Ah, yes. General von Dienst. You said you are... leaving? With... a large part of my army?" _Isn't that called desertion, or treason, or something?_

"Not _your_ army. Lord Manfred and Lady Alana have recalled the Wincott and Bielenfeld regiments to the aid of Wincott and Bielenfeld. Mobilized under Marshall Law. _I_ will accompany them, as a civilian Squire. Like Lord Aldrich, my wife and son and daughter were visiting the Derringer plantation, on the Wincott border."

"Your daughter Evrinne is safe and accounted for," Thomas interrupted. He indicated Avram with a nod of his head. "Evrinne is taking Avram's twin Margritte and her own granddaughter Meghan back to Donegal. Little Meghan was visiting in Tarkenburg."

Von Dienst closed his eyes and blew out a huge sigh of relief. _At least one of them is safe!_ "Thank Shinou!"

"I'm sorry, you must be very worried," said Yuuri. "But it's only an earthquake. I'm sure they'll be fine."

Thomas cleared his throat. "Sire... Lord Aldrich was last heard from when he ordered the total evacuation of Biergarten plantation – just south of Derringer – due to poison gas. It took some time for us to learn this, because the Biergarten refugees were more desperately ill than Lord Aldrich realized. Forty percent of them died before they reached the next plantation south. But Lord Aldrich didn't accompany them. Instead he went _north_. Toward Derringer and the Wincott border. We've had no word at all from that region."

"And Wincott?" Yuuri breathed.

"Is no longer responding."

"I'll go with you!" Yuuri cried, earning a hero's smile from Wolfram.

"No, you won't," chorused Conrad, Gwendal, and most crossly, von Dienst. The latter added, "The boats are full. Sire. Look, we have to leave. Wolfram, kiss your family good-bye, and let's go."

"What's the contingency plan for..." The question died on Wolfram's lips at the look of pain in von Dienst's eyes.

"I have no contingency plan for this," von Dienst said bitterly. "Five minutes." He turned and strode away toward the castle entrance gallery.

"Greta's ball!" Wolfram cried in sad realization. "I- "

"Günter. Send our regrets to the guests, and cancel the ball," said Yuuri quietly. He drew Wolfram to him for a chaste closed-lip kiss, and murmured, "Go kiss the kids good-bye. We'll be fine, love."

And with several agonized looks back over his shoulder, Wolfram hustled off to kiss Greta and the younger children good-bye.

"He's newly potty trained, Sire," Thomas offered solicitously. To be clear, he added, "Avram might need to visit the facilities. He just woke up."

"Ah," said Yuuri in realization. He started to offer the child back to Thomas in reflex, but Thomas just kissed him good-bye again fondly, and scurried off after von Dienst. "Potty," Yuuri echoed. Avram nodded his little head emphatically.

Annissina folded her arms and glared at Yuuri. "So? Go potty, Yuuri." And she turned on her heel and left, in a swirl of skirts.

"Do you want me to, um...?" offered Conrad, without enthusiasm.

Yuuri was tempted. As he was about to hand the baby over, Avram looked up at him. With great, sad, worried emerald eyes. Though still baby-rounded, already one could see the curved elfin tilt, the slightly bruised lavender coloring about the eyes, just like Aldrich, Avram's missing... _mommy. _"Ah, no. I've got it, thanks, Conrad. Let's go, Avram."

The nearest bathrooms had no stepstool for a baby to stand on. Before they reached the nursery bathroom, Avram had peed all over him. Poor little Avram was so upset and ashamed, Yuuri spent a half hour cheering him up and making him feel at home, before he felt right handing the baby off to a real nanny, and getting back to work.

By then, Wolfram was already gone. No one had mentioned for how long.

-oOo-

In the unseasonably warm May weather, Adelbert had their royal guest out on the dining room balcony for pre-dinner drinks and hors d'oeuvres. The men were clearly enjoying themselves, rehashing old times. They'd shared some campaign while Adelbert lived in exile among the humans. Conrad, Gwendal, and Annissina had begged off formal supper due to earthquake-related work. Günter had all of Wolfram's marriage ball plans to cancel. Which left Yuuri with an inadvertantly intimate family dinner with ... an inexplicable guest. Conrad _had_ taken a moment to brief him on Adreshulde. The country lay across the Arrhian Sea from Dai Cimarron. Shin Makoku had no direct trade dealings with them at the moment. This was due largely to the fact that Adreshulde was closely allied with Dai Cimarron, whose relationship with Shin Makoku remained very dicey. The old king, a literal puppet to Soushu, had never recovered from his bout of evil possession. His son Edvar now ruled Dai Cimarron. And his much-younger daughter Desirea had married then-Prince Robichaud of Adreshulde.

_A friend of my enemy is not necessarily my enemy,_ Yuuri encouraged himself. With a smile, he remembered Aldrich's laughing face as he told his boys about Castle Bielenfeld's sudden investiture by a dragon years ago. _Oh, heirs to the agricultural might of Bielenfeld and Gratz – how do we handle unwanted guests?_ Young Dietrich and Trenton had somersaulted across the floor, chorusing in reply: _ We feed them and feed them til they roll away home!_ Feeding this Robichaud was a simple enough solution. But his smile started to ache when he remembered that Aldrich was missing.

_He'll be fine. I'm sure of it._

The finely dressed Yuuri led a resplendant Greta on his arm out to the balcony to join Robichaud and Adelbert, many assorted children in tow. Unlike ultra-formal Bielenfeld, here children were merely required to be _clean_ at dinner. Yuuri put the toddler Avram down to toddle over to join his little Bertram and Gwendal's Grendel. Yuuri beamed a professional smile as Robichaud and Adelbert rose from their lounge chairs.

"Robichaud! Hello, hello! I trust Adelbert's been keeping you amused? And of course, you've already met my daughter Greta though – aha! – it was a bit rushed!"

Robichaud's return professional smile vanished into a quickly-suppressed snarl. His eyes whipped to meet Greta's in anger. _"Princess Greta._ Not _Gretchen_. The _nanny."_

"Ah?" said Yuuri. "Oh! No – sorry! Haha! This... is my daughter. Greta."

Greta flushed in embarrassment, and curtsied. "I'm sorry for the confusion," she murmured.

Yuuri ventured, "Ah, it was pretty chaotic when we met. I'm sure Greta just felt that adding a formal meeting just then would just add to the uproar –"

Robichaud cut him off with a quick glare, then returned his gold-flecked hazel gaze to bore directly into Greta's eyes. "If this young woman is old enough to marry as a Queen, Yuuri, she should answer for herself. _And,_ we've run into each other _several_ times today. Why did you continue to deceive me?"

Greta's face burned, but she lifted her chin and met his eyes. "Alright. At first it was as Yuuri said, just not wanting to add to the confusion. But later... I took advantage of the opportunity to find out who you were. I did tell Liesel who I was, almost immediately. But she thought it would be fun to continue the masquerade. I didn't consider how you might feel about being deceived. Now I see that I was wrong. I apologize." Continuing to meet his hard gaze, in a hard face with that cruel scar, her neck ached from the intensity pushing against her. But she stood tall and took it. And curtseyed with the apology.

Robichaud crooked up a corner of a lip in appreciation, then nodded slowly. "Honestly owned up to. Alright. Apology accepted." He waved to suggest they all be seated. "If you'll forgive me, you look nothing like either of your parents, Princess. Indeed your parents look of an age to be your brothers, instead. I'm not accustomed to dealing with demons. I'm afraid Adelbert is the only demon I've ever met before. So, Yuuri, you're what – 120?"

"Ah, no. Actually, I'm twenty-six. Greta really _is_ of an age to be my sister. My husband is in his 90's, though. I adopted Greta. Actually, she came here when she was nine, claiming to be my sealed heir and daughter, in order to assassinate me, haha! And, we became friends. And, she became my daughter." It occurred to Yuuri in the process of telling this that it sounded quite insane. In case Wolfram ever did pull off this marriage ball, he'd have to think of some better way of conveying this, should anyone else show up who didn't know them already.

Greta was mortified, and sunk her nose into her glass of wine.

But Robichaud looked at her piercingly. "Did you really? At age nine? Where did you come from? Surely you didn't come _alone?_"

"Yes, I did. From Suberia," Greta supplied weakly. _Damn Yuuri for bringing this up!_ "It was foolish. I was very lucky Yuuri is the kind of person he is. And he's been ever so much kinder to me than my guardians in Suberia were."

"It was damned _brave,_" countered Robichaud. "I'm impressed. Princess Gretchen."

As Greta blushed, Liesel pounced on her father. Much to young Frieda's annoyance, the girl had been hovering behind her father eavesdropping on boring grown-up talk all this while. "Daddy! Don't be mean! Greta's nice!"

"Yes, yes, I know, Liesel, I was just teasing her," said Robichaud, and finally turned his attention to his daughter for a quick hug. And cried, "What the _hell _are you wearing!" For Liesel, of course, was wearing Greta's old playclothes, much too big for her. Knickers. In lavender.

"They're Greta's old clothes, and they're fun!" said Liesel, turning to show him. "I can play in them..."

"You can _not_ play in them!" said Robichaud. "You do _not_ wear pants!"

"Please don't be angry at Liesel," interjected Greta. "You asked me to give her playclothes, and I did. Here in Shin Makoku, young girls wear pants as playclothes. And grown women as well, for work." _Great. A sexist pig. And he would have to come early for the ball... Well, the ball's cancelled. Hopefully he'll leave promptly. I feel sorry for Liesel, though. She's sweet._

Robichaud grimaced and relented. "Of course. We can follow local custom, I suppose. Please understand, though, Princess, that pants mean something different in my country. A man dresses his daughter in _pants_ to sell her as a ... plaything. A custom I'm doing my _damnedest_ to stamp out. Liesel, please stop hanging on me. I'll be good, I promise. You go play with Frieda."

"How's that going, anyway, Chaud?" Adelbert asked, trying to lighten the conversation. "You had big plans to modernize Adreshulde once you won it back. Still tossing virgins into volcanos?"

Robichaud snorted a laugh. "Only in effigy. Though, if this keeps up... People are claiming the recent rise in earthquakes is due to my withholding real virgins, and Great Shadrach, the Volcano God, is angry. And they think my theory about it is completely bonkers." He looked at Yuuri appraisingly.

Yuuri was still mentally stuck on _tossing virgins into volcanos._

"Well," allowed Adelbert, "I gotta admit, it sounds pretty superstitious to me, too, Chaud. The new Yuuri moon is way up in the sky, beyond all reach. How could it possibly _'pull'_ on the earth to make earthquakes? _'As above, so below'_ kind of reasoning?"

"No, think about it," said Robichaud, leaning forward in earnest. "The tides followed the old moon. But then with the new moon, the tides rearranged. Much higher and lower when the moons travel together, flattened out and a different length when the moons are at odds. I think the moons pull on the water somehow, like gods vying to control the oceans. And if they can pull water, they can pull earth, too, in their battle with one another."

Adelbert looked ready to scoff again, but Yuuri said, "No, he's right, Adelbert. You're right, Robichaud. The moons do pull on the earth. The second one... wasn't supposed to. But if the tides are affected... it does."

One might have expected Robichaud to be delighted, that someone finally endorsed his _'crackpot'_ theory. One would have been wrong. His face grew cold with anger. "Then why'd you do it? That's what I've come here to ask you, Shibuya Yuuri, Maou of Shin Makoku. They say _you_ created this new purple moon. _Why'd you do it?"_

"Daddy!" cried Liesel, tugging at him.

"Hush, Liesel, go play."

"We came here to marry a new mommy!" insisted Liesel.

"We came here for several errands, or I wouldn't have left Adreshulde for _weeks_ to travel here. Go play."

"Ah... That's a long story," Yuuri began. "And yes, they say I created the new moon, but... I didn't. As Maou, I have a lot of power, but, not enough to create a moon. That was the result of... an imperfect victory, against a much more powerful foe –"

_**"Daddy!"**_ This time Liesel's scream was of terror, as she catapulted into his arms. "Look!"

"Is that a... fire?" wondered Adelbert, staring at the grey mushroom cloud suddenly growing on the northern horizon.

"No," said Robichaud flatly, cuddling Liesel to comfort her. "_That_ is a volcanic eruption. Maybe 125 miles distant," he estimated. "Wait for it. Children! Away from the banister! Come here!"

"That's impossible!" argued Adelbert. "There's no way we could see something that far away!"

Robichaud shrugged. "You can if it's twenty miles high, and _really big."_ And to underscore his point, the shockwave and sound of the explosion reached them, just as the rest of the children reached their adults. The rolling thundercrash passed, and Robichaud continued conversationally, "Looks like it's blowing this way. Is that Bielenfeld and Wincott? Where the epicenter of the earthquakes were today? That would make sense."

Yuuri found his mouth was hanging open, and he closed it. "Yes," he confirmed. "Wincott, just north of Bielenfeld. Where my husband Lord Wolfram just went. If you'll excuse me, King Robichaud." He and Adelbert left quickly. Leaving poor Greta alone with six children and a visiting king. Who might or might not be sincerely interested in her hand in marriage. _Probably not,_ she reflected.

"Well, I gather your ball is canceled, Princess Greta. But this makes it all the more urgent that I visit Bielenfeld."

Greta bowed her head in assent. "Very well. But under the circumstances, I think we should ask permission. I'll write to Wolfram – my other father – in Bielenfeld on your behalf. In the meantime, let's all eat supper." As the children got moving towards the table, she added politely, "You seem very knowledgeable about volcanos, Your Majesty."

"I should be," he answered grimly. "The King is High Priest of the Volcano God Shadrach of Adreshulde." But from the look on his face, Greta suspected it was a great deal more personal than that, this difficult man's relationship with the volcano.

-oOo-

Greta wearily carried Wolfram's marriage ball paperwork to her room, to review for herself what offers had come in. _Not that it matters much, I suppose. But I do have to talk to Robichaud and Adelbert and Conrad and Murata in the meantime. Maybe others..._ Though, there was only one other yet, in the event – a very tentative, weasel-worded semi-proposal from what's-his-name, the wimp prince of the principality so small that his sister moonlighted as a barmaid. She hadn't bothered to take that one. As early earthquake reports came in, he'd already sent a frightened note to withdraw his expression of interest, which Günter had tacked onto the file.

Günter had belatedly wandered along to help her wine and dine Robichaud, when he'd realized in horror that she was hosting him unchaperoned. She was relieved at first, having someone else, more experienced, to handle Robichaud. But it turned out Adreshulde was one of those newfangled _machinist countries!_ emerging amongst the humans across the Arrhian Sea, which Günter so deplored. _Easy for him to condescend,_ thought Greta._ He's highest Mazoku, and has majutsu powers over the world. Humans have to work for it. Of course machines are more popular with humans!_ Though even here, Wolfram's own grandmother Phoebe was an avid industrialist, and Shin Makoku's industries were thriving and raising standards of living. _Phoebe's no slouch at wind majutsu, either._

Which left Greta in the uncomfortable position of siding with Robichaud against Günter's old-fashioned attitudes. Fortunately, Robichaud was no worse than mildly amused by Günter's opinion – what skin off his nose, after all? This pompous old fool demon could think what he liked. To Adreshulde, what mattered was the standard of living in Adreshulde. Which was rising quite nicely, thank you.

Robichaud concentrated instead on soothing his daughter Liesel, who was rattled and clingy after the volcanic eruption. In the process, he got to know the other children. Since the adults were thoroughly outnumbered, it made for a good general conversation, comparing how children were raised. Including, to Greta's surprise, her own upbringing, before Shin Makoku. Then Robichaud made an early night of it, taking Liesel to their quarters for a bath and to wind down in private, instead of overstimulated by all her new little friends. Greta was solicitous, of course, and made extra sure to drop off a pile of Frieda's outworn dresses. Or rather, out_grown _dresses, for the flame-topped tomboy barely _wore_ them. And a plate of cookies and milk for a late snack.

Which all left Greta feeling rather wiped out and flat as she made her way to bed with her reading material. But she found Liesel herself sitting at her door, dressed cutely in Frieda's most beloathed old pink lacey nightgown.

"Liesel! Does your father know you're up, sweetie?"

She nodded solemnly. "Daddy's taking his turn at the bath. I told him I needed to ask you something, and I'd be right back."

"Alright, c'mon in. What did you want to ask?" Greta dumped her files and patted her big four-poster bed, inviting Liesel hop up next to her.

"Um, maybe tell, not ask," Liesel said slowly, not meeting her eye. Then all in a rush, she blurted, "I just want you to know, Daddy's not mean! I mean, I know he was mean to you today. And he's been mean like that. But it's only since Mommy and my brother died! Daddy used to be so _nice!_ And I _know_ he'd be nice again, if I had a Mommy again! But how am I going to get a Mommy, if he'll only be nice again _after_ I have a Mommy again!" Liesel dissolved in tears.

Greta gently folded the child into her arms and rocked her, letting her cry it out until the sobs died back into hiccups, only murmuring, "There, there! It'll be alright..." and other vague inanities. She'd had a lot of practice soothing night terrors over the years, with all her younger 'siblings'. When Liesel was mostly composed again, she asked gently, "Is this how your Mommy and brother died? A volcano?"

"Yeah," Liesel sniffed. "An earthquake, and then a volcano. We have them all the time. Well, I mean, we always have the volcanos. But they erupt all the time. More lately. Like Daddy said. Since the purple moon. But it's not your Daddy's fault, is it? He didn't make the volcano erupt and kill Mommy and Chaudelaine. Did he?"

"No," Greta confirmed. "He put the moon up there, but he never knew it would hurt anybody. He was saving us all from being hurt a different way, much worse. But now he knows that there's a problem, I'm sure he'll find a way to make it better. Maybe my Daddy and your Daddy can work together."

"That'd be good," agreed Liesel. "Greta? You're a lot like my Mommy was. Not me. I'm a 'girly-girl', like Daddy says." She looked down sadly at her pink-painted toenails and doll Patchi, at this admission of softness. "But Mommy was a warrior princess, strong, like you. She helped Daddy win back Adreshulde from the Usurper."

"Like Robichaud and the brave princess of his desire, against the evil Uncle Gagarin," mused Greta, a bit more of the childhood fairy tale coming back to her.

But Liesel nodded emphatically. "So you know the story already."

"What?" asked Greta, momentarily confused. Only then did she realize. Her romantic memories of tales of the handsome young Prince Robichaud and – not the princess of his desire, but Princess Dez-i-RAY-yah! Fighting side by side, with support from the princess' cruel old father, to win his kingdom back from the evil Uncle Gagarin. Not a fairy tale, but current events! From when she was very small!

"So you see?" pleaded Liesel. "You'd make a good Mommy for Daddy. Even if _I'm _a girly-girl. Please, Greta? Please promise me you'll think about it?"

Greta solemnly promised, and delivered the little girl back to her suite.

_It's not a lie. I will think about it,_ she thought tiredly. _I won't think very __**long**__ about it..._ Robichaud was irritating! Arrogant, aggressive, and the thought of how he'd made her grovel an apology made her face burn all over again! _Liesel is cute, and I feel for her, I really do. But __**Frieda **__is cute, too! And Chichibert's a fighter, and a strong man, but he can still be __**nice!**_ She winced a little, realizing she'd been considering Adelbert as a husband, while simultaneously calling him _'Chichibert'_. _Old habits,_ she firmly decided.

_He was a romantic handsome young brave prince once, the stuff of fairy tales, Prince Robichaud. Now he's a bitter middle-aged man, scarred inside and out. _Greta was still young enough to consider almost-30 'middle-aged'.

_That's kinda sad, really. You never think about, what really happened to the heroic prince and princess who 'lived happily ever after'. Maybe a volcano erupted and made the castle fall and crush the Queen and their beloved son. Maybe being smart and brave and strong never saved him from getting hurt, couldn't keep bad things from happening. Your kids disappoint you, your peasants still want to throw virgins into volcanos, people age at different rates, get separated, grow apart... Marriage isn't about how to handle 'happily ever after', is it..._

_I'm getting maudlin. I still __**don't like him. **__Chichibert – __**Adelbert, dammit **__– and Uncle Conrad – __**Lord Conrad and His Highness Murata Ken!**_ _– __they're all much nicer. But then... they're all much older, too, aren't they? Well, except Murata. But he remembers a gazillion lifetimes as a wise man, which is almost older still._

_But Mazoku are different. _She'd noticed this before. Even umpty-great grandfather-and-uncle Friedrich von Bielenfeld, who was nearly 800 years old, and grew up with the priestess Ulrike – even he was surprisingly young at heart. Granted, he was sarcastic and had a pitch black sense of humor. But even Friedrich had a new baby of his own, and delighted in laughing out loud and romping with his grandchildren and baby daughter on the floor. Even Friedrich still learned something new every day, applauded changes in fashion, was flexible as a ferret. _Mazoku stay young at heart, not just body. Chichiue Wolfram is three times Robichaud's age, but young. Humans seem to get hurt more, as they age._

_Humans like me._

_Humans like Robichaud._

But she didn't like that thought. Her face still heated every time she thought of having to apologize to him for the nanny masquerade. And him blowing up at her for putting pants on his 'girly-girl'! And how dare he say that to Liesel anyway, making her ashamed of being a bit feminine? She_ is_ a girl! Well, OK, that _is_ what he said. _ARGH!_

She hastily got up and wrote a note to Chichiue Wolfram, to forward Robichaud's request to visit Bielenfeld despite the disaster, and put it in with the morning dispatches. _There! At least he won't catch me screwing __**that**_ _up!_

In the end, she went to sleep disgusted with herself, head still spinning about a guy she didn't even like. She left the other marriage proposals to read in the morning. But of course she read _his._ _'Royal marriage terms of the Kingdom of Adreshulde_'! Absolutely insulting, arrogant, annoying...

-oOo-

Yuuri gave up and headed for bed around midnight. He stopped by the nursery, as usual, to look in on his angels. _Well, they're angels when they're asleep, at least. _Bertram, beautiful as his adopted father Wolfram, causing mischief now only in his dreams. Frieda the ferocious. Sweet and dreamy little Ekaterin, who already loved to play tea party more than just about anything. Avram, the great unknown, with delicately pointy elfin ears, closed eyes sketching that exotic curved elf-troll line, thumb still planted firmly in mouth. He'd been crying again, poor sweetling.

_What an overwhelming and incomprehensible catastrophe to you, huh, Avram? Suddenly torn away from your fathers and brothers and sister and home, to land alone in this strange place. Guess it wouldn't make you feel any better to know that the grown-ups feel the same way on this one. Wolfram'll –_

_No. Wolfram will __**not, **__whatever I was thinking. _A cold wind seemed to touch the back of Yuuri's neck. _I've no idea how long Wolfram will be gone. This... Cleaning this up could take __**years. **__It's up to me to raise you guys while he's away. But it's alright. Wolfram and I have faced a lot worse than this together._

_But that's the problem, isn't it? We've always faced the big stuff __**together.**__Not this time... _

In the end, Yuuri brought lost little Avram to bed with him.

-oOo-

Even later that night – early morning, really – as the family valet Thomas helped Lord Manfred undress for bed, he conveyed that one King Robichaud of Adreshulde intended to visit Bielenfeld.

Manfred wore solidly middle-class burger attire – thin disguise, with no attempt to hide his hair or features. It was the policy of Lords von Bielenfeld to only practice medicine in established milieu, such as Manfred's role as Professor of Healing at the Bielenfeld Institute, and to be unavailable as healers otherwise. That said, in emergencies, they always pitched in, just under an assumed name. Thus Manfred Lord Bielenfeld Regent had worked a full 14 hours on the pressing administrative emergencies of the day. Then he donned mufti to work the night to the limit of maryoku exhaustion, as Healer Fred, saving tens of citizens who otherwise might have perished of poison or acid ash inhalation. Everyone knew who he was. But they called him Healer Fred.

All the fire healers of the ruling family did this, though it was hard to guess from the records exactly _which_ Healer Fred or Rick any particular one might have been. Especially since octacenturion Friedrich was equally likely to go by Fred or Rick. And in a few decades, few would get the joke from Wolfram and Efram and Dietrich this night. They chose to enter the annals of Castletown history as the Young, Younger, and Youngest Healer Ichs.

There was still no word of Aldrich. Nor any word yet of Avram's twin Margritte's progress to Donaghie. Manfred trusted that Evrinne von Tarkenburg had her safe in bed somewhere in Spitzweg. The young Healers Ichs had reached maryoku exhaustion and collapsed into bed hours ago. Ash still billowed down on the hapless domain of Bielenfeld like a blizzard. Every eye and nose was raw and red. Everyone breathed through wet handkerchiefs tied over their lower faces, which didn't quite keep the acid ash from entering inflamed throats and lungs. Everyone coughed. Many were in critical respiratory distress.

On Wolfram's advice, Manfred's last act of the night as Lord Bielenfeld was to order the general evacuation of all children below the age of 30. Children over 30, like Dietrich and Trenton, would work. He'd notified the Marshalls tonight, and they'd start sending children downriver tomorrow, with a bare minimum of adult caregivers. The most ill, once stabilized enough to travel, soon to follow. Every other man, woman, and child who could still work, would stay in Bielenfeld to... _Shinou knows where to even begin._

Anyway, evacuating the chidren was Wolfram's lookout now, not Manfred's. As Manfred had to remind himself, oh, every two minutes. _Not that there's much difference. In this situation, all Lord Bielenfeld can do is expedite the recommendations of his Lord of Public Health and Welfare. Or... maybe not. There's just so __**much**__! Secure the water supply, and food supply. Erect shelters. Dig out survivors. Caustic ash is nearly three feet deep in Castletown and still falling. Whole __**plantations**__ are probably buried alive closer to the volcano. The crops are already destroyed, without a prayer of clearing enough ash to replant this year, the livestock dead and dying, the populace ill or dying or dead... Wincott is in even __**worse**__ shape, Gratz isn't in much better shape..._

They were also, of course, bankrupt, both as a domain and as a family. But money was never Manfred's strong suit. Often tied for wealthiest man in Shin Makoku with Aldrich or Friedrich, he simply never gave money much thought. It surrounded him in abundance from birth, like... _clean air to breathe. Also in short supply just now._

Von Dienst's first expedition upriver to relieve Derringer Plantation and Wincott, was turned back by a violent lahar racing down the Donza – a massive mudslide powered by the melted mountain snowcap and glaciers near the eruption. That pushed a storm surge like a tidal wave before it down the Donza, with the army launches riding the wave almost down to Walde, then beating their way back up. _A pity the flash flood came before the ash..._ Von Dienst's second expedition turned back when the boats were swamped with survivors. They were still racing up and down the Donza, ferrying refugees to relative safety in Tarkenburg and Castletown. The army's overland expeditions were doing much the same, only more slowly. None had made it yet to Aldrich's last known position near Derringer, let alone Wincott.

_Please, love! Come home to me safe!_ That was all that still fit in Manfred's mind as his head hit the pillow and he fell instantly asleep, before Thomas finished pulling off his middle-class workaday boots.

The impending visit of one Robichaud King of Adreshulde never had a chance to register.

-oOo-

_Sorry the chapter got so long! Please tell me if this is too long, and I'll force-chop them shorter even if they don't get the full chapter's job done..._

_Please review? Reviews energize me to write again. And I may drop this story if not enough people express interest. This has been a__** long**__ series of stories... But, if people are still reviewing, I'll keep going. Reviews count more to me than hits._


	3. Digging Out

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: immediate aftermath of disaster.

_AN:_ Sorry, I didn't want to rush the stuff in this chapter. So _next_ chapter is _Death of a Lord._

Chapter dedicated to Pandawolf again, for prodding me some more when I slowed down! Keep prodding. Unlike the last story, I mostly know what happens in this one, just need to organize it and write it down. Mostly...

**Chapter 3 – Digging Out**

_May 14th…_

Greta read through her marriage proposals from Conrad, Murata, and Adelbert quickly before breakfast. Unlike the flat legal terms of Adreshulde's _fair warning_ tract, these were flattering, warm, and considerate. The prospect of designing and building Castle Lutenberg particularly colored her imagination. If her face still burned with embarrassment remembering Robichaud's demanded apology and reaction to knickers, her face flushed warm too at these friends' – _uncles' – _generous offers of matrimony. Read just like that, she could easily picture a _'happily ever after'_ with each of them, as vividly described in their cover letters.

But a cold breath of reason tickled her neck. _Yeah, and I was thinking of Robichaud's 'happily ever after' just last night. And each of these three men has a 'happily ever after' lying dead in their past, too. Conrad's star-crossed love for Adelbert's fiancée, and lifelong half-hearted dalliance with Yozak. Adelbert's fiancée dead, leading him to treason and exile, and to father a child by a pirate he never loved. Murata's fun romance with Giesela, turned ice cold, him raising a child his wife refuses to acknowledge. Even Yuuri and Wolfram – they're really in love with each other, but it sure looks painful sometimes. Gwendal and Annissina – ouch! Friedrich and Alana look happy __**now**__, sure, but they went __**centuries**__ barely ever seeing each other. I guess Manfred and Aldrich are the only couple close to me who look really __**happy**__ together. But they haven't been married very long. No, that's not fair – they're newlyweds, but they've been lovers for nearly a century. Yeah, that counts. I know one truly happy couple. _

_Crappy odds, aren't they. I can see why Aldrich advocates marriage for duty instead of for love. That, you might have some control over. Do your duty. Give what love you can, enjoy what love you get. But don't get addicted to it, don't for a minute believe that you need it. It's just nice when it happens. And, get this – of the one truly happy loving couple I know, one of the pair doesn't believe in marriage for love or happiness. _

_That's pretty cynical. Am I sure I want to get married? _

_Eh. I'm just dreading breakfast. Despite a kingdom-wide calamity, I get to play hostess to the Arrogant One. Well, he doesn't seem to like me much. Probably he'll leave soon. _Though even now, Greta was honest enough to suspect that what really irked her most about Robichaud, was that he _didn't _seem to like her. _Fine. I don't like him, either. Damned if I'll fail to host him as befits __**me**__ as Princess of Shin Makoku, though!_

-oOo-

In the event, it didn't take long at all for Robichaud to exit Greta's chore list.

They'd barely sat down to breakfast, when Robichaud launched into it. "Yuuri. Excuse me for being frank, but I feel some things are best knocked straight out into the open. I'm High Priest of the Volcano God Shadrach of Adreshulde. Point being, I've altogether too much experience with the aftermath of a volcanic eruption. You have none. For example, this ash still falling." He waved at the eery 8:00 am glowing dusk swirling outside the window. "It's about done here. This is nothing. You can let the shopkeepers sweep the streets. On the other hand, there'll be drift swaths up north, determined by the wind patterns, where the ash still falls for a few more hours. Where the ash reaches 20 feet or more in depth, well, it's not just ash, and the inhabitants are already dead. Buried under anywhere from 5 feet to 20 feet, they'll find their own air, or you can't save them. But most of them will, and you've only a couple days to dig them out and save their lives. And any shelter is drifted over deeper, just like a blizzard, though much lighter in weight. Your General von Dienst left with a small force to handle an _earthquake._ Kick the order of magnitude up two notches. I strongly suggest _complete_ army mobilization to the ash drift zone, immediately. If you'll pardon my sticking an oar in. But, that's just one of the myriad details. Like _how_ to dig them out. I'm here. Clearly divine Shadrach meant for me to be here now. Let me help."

Greta was impressed. Then he blew it with the bit about his nasty virgin-eating volcano god.

"Mobilize the entire army," echoed Gwendal bitterly. "With Dai Cimarron's closest ally sitting before us."

Robichaud sat back in his chair, hands spread as though to show himself unarmed. "I came here in peace. I'll leave in peace. If I left _now_, I'd just aggravate your paranoia, and distract precious resources from saving lives. I visited King Edvar mere days ago, on the way here. He isn't looking to mess with Shin Makoku this week. And Adreshulde _**never has**_ crossed swords with you_._ And in case you hadn't noticed yet, you're a bankrupt disaster area. Not much of a prize just now. Fear is the master of fools, Chancellor Lord Walde. And I've never heard that you, or your Maou, were _that_ kind of fool. Whatever _other_ kinds of fool you, or I, might be," he quipped to lighten his delivery.

"I agree completely."

Yuuri turned in surprise, at the bass echo to his words coming from the door. His relief General sauntered in to loom above Robichaud, taking a stand several inches inside of a comfortable personal boundary – all 6'10" of him, nearly 60" around at the chest, all of it muscle. He gave a little close-mouthed smile and sketched a little wave. "Hi. I'm General Teodor von Trondheim. General von Dienst's relief. You must be King Robichaud of Adreshulde. My late brother Franklin told me all about you. Impressed as hell. Nice to meetcha."

_/ A.N. Metric: Ted is 208 cm tall, 150 cm around the chest – there's a picture of him on my illustrations page. Robichaud and Yuuri are around 175 cm tall. /_

There's something deeply hard-coded into the male psyche, about _a bigger bruiser than I am._ Robichaud couldn't have helped shrinking back into his seat if he tried. And anyway, without shrinking back, there was no way he could have looked _up_ far enough, past that vast span of muscle, to meet Ted in the eye. Greta'd never seen Ted use his size to intimidate someone before – he was the mildest mannered of men. But only a fool could be that big and not know _how._ Also hard-coded into the male psyche. _Me alpha male. You not._

Robichaud smiled wanly. "Charmed."

Ted turned to Yuuri, shifting to give Robichaud an inch more personal space. "Sire, Bert, all, good to see you again. Excuse the intrusion at breakfast. Just got here ten minutes ago, but won't be here long. I've ordered the Shin Makoku Federation army and navy to mobilize to the relief of Bielenfeld, and as far into Wincott as there's hope. I'm personally deploying in the third wave, at approximately 12:30. I'm shifting command to Castletown. In the meantime, you're all cordially invited to the situation room for planning purposes. King Robichaud, given your expertise, and your divine relationship with Shadrach of the Volcano, we would be _honored_ and _grateful _if you would join us."

"The _entire_ military?" Gwendal exploded. "You can't just –"

"Yes, I can. I already have," Ted replied cordially. "I remind you, Gwen – we're under Marshall Law. I answer to my Lady Aunt Alana this week. Not you. Unless you're subbing in for your Lady Mother? Or assisting your Lady Wife?" Ted couldn't resist. Alone among the male-ruled domains of Shin Makoku, Trondheim was matriarchal. He'd put up with jibes on this point his entire military career. Today the tables were turned – what _fun. _He shrugged and continued. "Don't worry. Nobody else is mobilized enough to hassle us. Even if they did scramble to get here before the survivor dig-out was complete, they'd face the Ladies. Ghosts help 'em."

"But inviting _Robichaud_ to our _military planning session?_ Teodor, you do realize he's the ally of –"

"Yup! And I _treasure_ the opportunity for Robichaud to get a _good look_ at Shin Makoku's army. Far and away the best of its size in the world." He turned and leaned in toward Robichaud again to address him. "You see, we haven't fought a war on our own soil since you were a small child, have we? I think it's important for everyone to be reminded from time to time, that fighting Mazoku on Shin Makoku soil is, well, _different_ than fighting us on human soil. Mazoku abroad don't have access to their _full demonic powers._ Well, in general, that is. On an individual level, you have to be very careful _which_ Mazoku you tangle with. Yuuri, for instance. Or the von Bielenfelds. Deadly, no matter where they are. But the rank and file, you see. Much stronger here. And each and every trooper with _decades_ of experience over yours. And the home defense under the Marshalls? Every bit as powerful. And there are _more of them_ than in our modest standing army." Ted _grinned._

The von Trondheims – including Aldrich von Trondheim von Bielenfeld – didn't _grin_ as a rule, instead favoring bland pleasant close-lipped or crooked one-corner smiles. That was because when they _grinned_, they showed off their most disconcertingly trollish feature. The flexible jawed, nearly ear-to-ear grin framed large canines – _fangs –_ that tended to remind squeamish demons that, _yes,_ _these people really are practicing cannibals – yum._ The grin also subtly shifted the elfin lilt of their eyes. Those recurved elfin eyes could look so graceful and sexy. Or berserker fierce, as when they _grinned._

Ted let the grin lapse into his usual bland pleasantness. "So, you see, Gwen. His Majesty King Robichaud is entirely welcome to review our military. We have nothing to hide."

Greta sighed. Guys were just _different._ Try that kind of crude intimidation in a group of women, and you're talking, _Payback – It's a bitch!_ But here were Yuuri and Robichaud, Conrad and Adelbert, all grinning at each other like fools, even Gwendal and Günter grudgingly smiling, in open appreciation of Ted's _complete and utter domination of the room, in under 5 minutes. We're playing by Ted's rules now, boys – fall in! That's an order!_ And hell if they didn't all _admire_ him for it! Guys were just _different._

Ted nabbed the basket of Maou buns on his way out. The men trooped on out after him. And Greta's hostessing problem was solved.

-oOo-

During a break, Yuuri caught Adelbert aside. "Hey... you know how I hate missing the jokes?" he quipped. Adelbert chuckled obligingly. "Gwendal subbing for Cecilie? For Annissina? And any invader'll face the _Ladies,_ Shinou help 'em, and stuff. What did I miss?"

"Huh?" Conrad was really better at this sort of thing – figuring out Yuuri's blind spots – but he was getting briefed. Ted left the rest of the country to the _Ladies_, but military intelligence he delegated to Conrad. Yuuri noticed _that_ part didn't happen around Robichaud. But he was relieved to learn that Ted hadn't just gambled on Robichaud and Edvar. He had solid evidence that Dai Cimarron couldn't attack Shin Makoku just now, whether Edvar wanted to or not.

Adelbert caught up. "Oh, I get it. We haven't had Marshall Law since you've been here, have we?"

"What does declaring martial law have to do with the ladies?"

"Um, well, they're the Marshalls. Oh, I see! Yeah. Well, you know how women and men here... It's not really that men dominate, so much as that women and men are equal, but dominate different theatres of operations." Ted was passing by, so he added, "Well, down _here,_ I mean. In Trondheim, they really are pussy-whipped." Which earned him a laugh and playful right jab from his lifelong pal Ted.

Yuuri coughed repressively. Alone of this testosterone-soaked bunch, his physical experience with women was still pretty much limited to hugs and busses from sundry female relatives. _Otherwise, Wolfram would kill me._

Grinning, Adelbert continued. "And like, in the army, there aren't many women. But _all _ the women are trained to fight. Yeah. So the military is more for offense and fights at, or beyond, our borders. The _women_ run our defense. And in natural disasters, same thing. The home front is their lookout. There are supposed to be five Marshalls – center, north, east, south, and west. But the post of Marshall of the West is vacant at the moment, the North's Lady Kattrin is MIA, Cecilie's off playing nookie instead of at her post here, so we're down to Alana and Annissina, Marshalls of the East and South. Alana simply said, _'I call dibs – I'm in charge',_ Annissina said, _'I agree', _and they split the country in half. Alana's got the north and pushes out evacuees. Annissina's got the south and accepts evacuees. Done deal. Hence, the jokes. Got it?"

"So, I don't rule Shin Makoku anymore. Alana does. And Annissina, but she follows Alana's lead. Is that what you're telling me?"

"Only temporarily. And you can still give orders – all the ruling Lords can. You just have to go through them. But Alana's already ordered an Aristocrat summit in 7 days, summoning all the Lords and Marshalls here to Blood Pledge, to hammer out where we go from here. To keep it simple, she'll maintain control until then, to keep the focus on digging out survivors, distributing evacuees, caring for the injured. Then, we'll see how it's going."

Yuuri was glad he asked. _Sort of..._

-oOo-

Picky eater that he was, and much more inclined than those high-strung horses to keep his wetted nose and eye cloths on for protection, the mule Clarence was still in passable shape. Fur kind of mangy from cinders and such, and feeling quite ill, but Clarence was up on his feet, and alert to changed conditions. _And very, very hungry._ By 11:00 am, the choking, stinging ash that turned day into night, had pretty much fallen, and now was just blowing around. This was of no great interest, however, there being nothing worth seeing or smelling. Some of the dead people and horses were getting a bit ripe. Ash everywhere.

But around about noon, Clarence's nose lifted in sudden alert. _Green grass! Good stuff!_ He managed to scuff off his eye-cloths and peer into the swirly murk toward the riverbank. _Grey air. Grey water, dead stuff flowing with it. Grey land, grey covered trees... There!_

Floating in the infinity of grey, there it was. A green oasis in the midst of Manfred's MvB plantation vineyards.

Manfred's approach to managing his vineyards was benign neglect, raised to an art form. He could maintain the world's richest vineyards, producing the finest wines, yet pretty much ignore the project, by training up the very best staff, and treating them _really_ well. Of his _junior_ assistants, one in four was off visiting other vineyards to study technique during even the busy wine-pressing season, on all-expense paid trips ranging everywhere this side of the Arrhian Sea. His senior staff didn't care to travel much anymore, being settled with families in their fine riverfront homes. They knew that life in posh MvB was as good as it got for working stiffs. But they continually learned new tricks off the younger ones, and seasoned innovation with experience before applying. Point being, Manfred's tenant farmers _excelled _at their work, and couldn't dream up a better boss.

As soon as they saw the column of ash and figured out what was happening, Manfred's tenants were out rigging tarps to cover and protect a certain reserve core of the vineyards. They already knew which area. Ash, locusts, virus, fungus, rats – it didn't matter the threat. They'd long established a reserve area to protect at all cost. They carefully stocked it with redundant sample individuals of their finest vines, moving appropriate soil around as need be. From this central core, they continued to work outward, bringing another section of the vineyard under protection, and then clearing out the ash in the new annex. They rigged windbreaks to divert ash. They took propagation cuttings of vines they couldn't protect from the ash. They dug soil samples to save sample _soil ecosystems _from the ash.

It was this rare and lonely oasis of healthy munchables amidst the ashen wasteland which Clarence smelled. _And he wanted it! He wanted it now! _

Clarence nosed his person again, but he still lay there stupid – all the peoples did. Clarence was tied to the barge he stood on. If he swam for it, he'd still be tied to the barge. That was a problem. So he crowded up to a horse lying on the deck, and bit it. That one was lively enough to fight to his feet. While he was still scrambling up, Clarence shoved him overboard. A couple of the other horses were too far gone to rise to being bitten, but he did manage to dump two more horses overboard. Then he jumped in as well, and joined them at swimming for all he was worth to that shore's _green food!_

A tenant farmer on shore cried out and pointed. Another – an avid birdwatcher – raised binoculars to study the ruckus. He yelled for others to help him help the horses, who'd surely founder unless they were detached from the barge. It was a day of death. They'd all had enough death. The tenant farmers dropped what they were doing, and rushed to launch sailing dinghies, just to save the horses. Others gathered by the shore, their families coming out to join them, to cheer the horses (and one mule) on.

_Come on! You can do it! You can make it! Help's on the way! Just hang in there! Swim!_

The first man reached the barge itself, and paused before casting off the horse lines. He gestured frantically for more people to board and help him. A chain of calls came back across the water.

_It's Lord Aldrich! And Lord Wincott! They're alive! Get help!_

Their best dinghy racer jibed off and sailed at best possible speed for the Castletown royal pier. Men and women on shore cast off clothes and dove into the water. Clarence and the horses were freed from the barge, their lines taken over by skiffs, one per animal, to coach them to shore. The other demons all converged on pulling the barge in, by sheer muscle power.

The horses foundered. Clarence, half-drowned and already ill, made it. The plantation's best vet was fetched along with the healers. They hoisted Clarence back onto the barge, by his master's side, and cared for him just as lovingly as the people, until Lord Manfred himself arrived by majutsu-powered launch, to rush them back to the Castle.

Aldrich. Lady Kattrin. Elliot Lord Wincott Regent. The grandson, younger than Dietrich, whom Elliot sat Regent for. Kyle von Derringer. A farm youth around Wolfram's age, with a weak healer's gift. Those were the living, all comatose. Aldrich's groom, Kyle's parents, brother, sister, and new bride – the wedding was day before yesterday – among eight other unknown dead. Gregor von Dienst's wife and son weren't with them.

-oOo-

"Can't you heal him, Chichiue Manfred?" Dietrich sobbed. He knelt by Clarence in the castle stable. "He saved Chichiue! And Grandfather Elliot! We've gotta save him!"

Manfred had about a million more important things to do than veterinary work. But he folded Dietrich into his arms, and held him tight. _This isn't about the mule. For either of us. _"I'll try, honey," he murmured. "You save your strength, to help heal your father and grandfather, hm?"

They all still lay in comas. Manfred couldn't rouse them. True healers worked on them now, adding their power to the body's own healing. They'd clearly been through hell. Hopefully someone would shave off their burnt and patchy hair, and clean them and dress or heal their burns, before Dietrich saw them again. _Before I see them again._ He could drown in sitting by Aldrich's side, waiting for him to wake. If he woke. Or he could lead the beleaguered domain of Bielenfeld, and raise their children, and let a better suited healer take over. Walking away from Aldrich's bedside, in the busy maximum care hospital suddenly spreading through the lower corridors of his castle, admitting his skills weren't the ones Aldrich needed, was one of the hardest things Manfred had ever done.

Dietrich nodded, sniffling, focus completely narrowed to Clarence. He couldn't think about his father and grandfather and the others from the barge._ We've had Clarence as long as I can remember._

Manfred summoned his fire healer maryoku signature, and ran a sensing hand over the mule. _Lot of water, in damaged lungs. Weak from dehydration and hunger. Acid burns. Damaged eyes. Seared sinuses. Exhaustion. Poison. Bleeding stomach. He's in pain, and letting go. Go in peace, faithful Clarence._ He reached out quietly with his maryoku, and stopped Clarence's heart. Then he gave the mule's flank a long sorrowful caress.

"He's gone, honey," he murmured to Dietrich. The boy fell apart completely, bawling against his chest.

Manfred could have saved the mule. But he wasn't adept at animals. He would have expended a lot of maryoku. _Too much. I could save 5 or 6 people, or save you, Clarence. I'm sorry. I can't do it all._ He felt like something died inside him with the mule, though. _I can't second-guess myself, a thousand life or death decisions every day. That way lies madness. This way lies madness. I'm not cut out for this. No. Don't second-guess that, either. I do my duty, best I can. When Aldrich... if Aldrich... Just do, the next right thing, by principle. People, before animals. Don't look back._

"We have to bury him in the family plot!" sobbed Dietrich. "He's a _hero!_ He's _family!"_ The boy started pounding on Manfred's chest in fury at it all, in total emotional meltdown. Manfred quietly captured his hands, and hugged him closer. _Too much. It's just too much. I don't blame you a bit, Diet._

-oOo-

Wolfram and Thomas found them there, rocking together in the straw. Dietrich's foster brother Trenton stood nearby, forgotten, hugging himself and staring at the dead mule. Thomas started there. He quietly promised Trent to take him home to meet his mother in Gratzport tomorrow. Trenton nodded woodenly, not removing his eyes from the mule. Detaching Dietrich from Manfred was harder, the boy still not in control of himself. But Thomas was firm and slow, familiar and reassuring, calm but insistent. He drew both boys up to the family apartment, windows secured against the ash, hall off limits to the clamoring hospital below, to share milk and cookies in a small island of false normalcy, to calm down in.

Wolfram considered what to say. _I'm so glad they found Aldrich? I'm sure Aldrich will be alright? Maybe you could use a nap, Chichiue? Crack some really dark joke? No. _He offered a hand to pull Manfred up, and clapped an arm around him for a hug, and left it there to walk him back to the castle. He said nothing about any of that. "The Castletown water supply is fouled, now, too – boiling can't make it potable. I've ordered the switch to distilled here as well," he said huskily, through his wet scarf. Only body language, physical support, to say the rest.

"Well done. _However. _Maybe we should just switch the default, hm? Order all communities in the ash zone to distilled water immediately, until cleared otherwise. Not enough water supplies are passing anymore, then the ones that pass don't stay good, and the hospitals are swamped."

"I'll get right on it." Wolfram gave his father another wordless hug as they parted at the Castle door. Manfred returned to a desk piled to overflowing, and a waiting line fifty people long, all bearing critical issues. Wolfram returned to the tent city-within-a-city the streets of Castletown had become, tarped over against the ash, with thousands of refugees huddled beneath. _An epidemic in the making. _The first round of new latrines dug into the splendid public parks, was already overburdened. He found the gang boss and authorized digging another round, and reminded him to keep posting the flaying notice for the out-of-towners.

_Twenty lashes – flaying, not flogging – for failure to use public latrines in Castletown. Yuuri would freak. Tough. Yuuri's not a Bielenfeld. Over seven centuries that law has stood in Castletown. Now our lives depend on it._

-oOo-

_May 19th…_

"Ah! No, no, Avram!" Yuuri cried, upon catching Avram wine-dipping again. He yanked the glass away from the toddler. Who'd already stuck his wine-dipped thumb back in his mouth, grinning. Avram of course toddled toward the next glass of wine to play the game again.

Avram was a delightfully easy baby, almost the antithesis of spoiled brother Bertram. But he was still the youngest of the bunch, and took the most looking after. Ekaterin, though born the same day, was developmentally twice his age, already talking, running, laughing, coloring, and playing tea party. Avram could walk, at a snail's pace. They'd never heard him talk. He used the potty, but depended on adults to remember to carry him there regularly. His very amiability made him easy to misplace. He found endless fascination in the little things that dwelled in the forgotten realm below adult knee height. To avoid getting stepped on or knocked over, he often crept under tables or behind couches. Frieda, Bertram, even sweet Ekaterin, made steady demands for attention. Not Avram. He required only his thumb for companionship and comfort. He'd quietly wander out of a room and down the hall, or into a chimney vent or out a balcony french door, following the rainbow cast by a beveled window, or a bit of thread, to see where it went, with no one the wiser until they remembered to look for him.

Robichaud watched Yuuri's game with Avram in eyebrow-raised amusement over before-dinner drinks. He'd just returned from Bielenfeld, having left with Ted the first day, leaving Liesel here. Behind a hand, he asked Greta, "I take it Wolfram normally does most of the child-rearing?"

"Mm," Greta agreed, feeling a bit disloyal. "Yuuri was only 17 when we got Bertram and Frieda. Wolfram _is_ much older..."

"Doesn't look it. Very capable young man, though, your Lord Wolfram. Doing a terrific job with public health and welfare in the disaster area. Hard to believe he's never done it before."

"Really?" said Yuuri, on his knees across the coffee table. Avram took advantage of his distraction to thumb-dip Conrad's sherry. "Ah! No, no, Avram!"

"Surely that little wine won't do him any harm, Yuuri?" suggested Robichaud.

"But his father Aldrich's a rock-bottom alchoholic," explained Yuuri. "Sober now over a century, but still, it runs in the family, and... They've_ entrusted_ Avram to me, and..."

"Have you considered soap?"

"Ah – what?"

"Dip the child's thumb in wine, then soap, then stick it back in his mouth. He won't like that."

"That's cruel!" cried Yuuri.

Greta told Robichaud behind a hand, "Gwendal tried that a few nights ago. Avram cried for a half hour. He's still avoiding Gwendal."

Robichaud chuckled. "Good for Gwendal. But surely Yuuri sees that the current approach is too entertaining. The baby will happily play this game for hours, and drink too much. You have to either remove the hazard, or punish the child. _And,_ if he keeps this up, all the other children will start drinking, too."

Sure enough, young Grendel made a play for Cecilie's unguarded glass. Gwendal's hand intercepted his in a vise-grip. "No," said Gwendal. "Try it again, and go to bed without supper." And he sent Grendel back to play with with a painless little spank. With Cecilie back on duty as Center Marshall, Annissina was on station at Khrennhaven. This disturbed Gwendal's family status quo not a bit. In no way was Gwendal a mom – he was a father. But, Annissina never stopped travelling, without Grendel. Gwendal mostly migrated between Blood Pledge and Walde Manor, and brought Grendel along. Yuuri was a great after-dinner, romp-on-the-floor sort of father. Gwendal was never at ease playing silly, but he was a steady strong-discipline father at any time. To Wolfram and Yuuri's children as well as his own – but only if their own parents weren't in the room.

_Gwendal and Annissina are happier when they're each doing their own thing, _thought Greta. _But they'll never break up. If they have a daughter, I'd like to help Gwendal – Well, if I'm here... Well, Annissina would probably take charge of a daughter, anyway, just like Gwendal took charge of their son._

"I think Yuuri just doesn't have enough to do," Greta continued her aside with Robichaud. "He's used to being Maou, and making the decisions. He tried at first to be involved in everything. But when Cecilie got back, she asked him to stop. It just muddied the chain of command while the Marshalls are in charge. So he's limited to raising-morale keep-up-the-good-work type visits. And he really _does_ take it seriously, that Avram's been entrusted to him. Normally, it's like Wolfram is his _real _foster father, not Yuuri. And legally, Bertram's only Wolfram's adopted son, not Yuuri's. The von Bielenfelds are so much older, and they're all geniuses, and don't really approve of humans. They don't take Yuuri very seriously."

"Mm," Robichaud agreed wryly, finding this easy to believe.

"Yuuri's a good father. And a great king," Greta defended.

"Well-loved," Robichaud agreed placatingly. "And what have you been up to, Princess?"

"Helping out in the evac hospital. I'm not a nurse or anything. Cleaning, and visiting with the injured."

Robichaud frowned and sipped his wine. Clearly he disapproved.

"What?" asked Greta, irritated.

Robichaud shrugged. "A Princess could do better. Take a leaf from your father's book. Morale-raising. Leadership. Children are especially cheered by a visit from a pretty princess. I heard stories up north about your work organizing children's efforts in the past. I imagined that's what you were doing now, is all. Either that or assisting the Ladies. A junior Lady Marshall, as it were." He shot Greta a look she realized wasn't disapproval, but rather a challenge.

Greta pursed her lips wryly. _Alright, Robichaud of Adreshulde. I accept your gauntlet. I __**can**__ do more, and I will!_

Yuuri finally had the sense to scoop Avram up in his arms and sit for conversation. "Ah, Robichaud – we hear Aldrich's already up and at work again? But, only as Lord of Agriculture?"

Robichaud nodded, lips pursed. "Seems knowledgeable. I'm told he's still not quite himself."

Yuuri looked puzzled. _Damned by faint praise,_ wasn't the sort of thing one usually heard regarding Aldrich.

Robichaud continued, "I'm quite impressed with your Lords Manfred and Wolfram and Friedrich, and Friedrich's wife Alana. And Ted von Trondheim's _more_ than delivered on his boasts to me about Shin Makoku's military. Especially your army corps of engineers. Majutsu and machinery make a formidable combination. _'Impressed as hell,'" _he echoed Ted's comment regarding his own career.

Yuuri's eyes, wide and gentle, and that disconcerting pitch black, gazed into Robichaud's. "And the others? Who were with Aldrich? And the citizens? I hear they're working awfully hard, and suffering from the ash."

Robichaud nodded. He detached himself from Yuuri's warmth, though, and spoke coolly. "The young medic came out of coma. And Kyle von Derringer, poor guy. I gather there's some inherent self-healing in those with the healer maryoku, that enabled their recovery. Kyle – overwhelmed by grief. The others are still in a coma, and getting worse instead of better. The ordinary citizens – heroic and hardworking. Amazingly orderly society, Bielenfeld. I take it that's not the norm in Shin Makoku?"

"No, they're exceptional that way, even for Shin Makoku," agreed Yuuri. "Well, the Tronds are also exceptionally well organized, but more in a communal sort of way, rather than Bielenfeld's aristocratic sort of way."

Robichaud nodded understanding. "It's been a privilege. Shadrach's blessing in time of calamity – disaster can bring out the very best in people, courage and lovingkindess, strength and cooperation, the willingness to give everything they have to help a perfect stranger."

Yuuri smiled warmly. "Good to hear. So, Robichaud, ah – will you be staying a while longer? We've barely had a chance to visit."

"No, actually, I'm leaving in the morning." Much to her annoyance, Greta's heart skipped a couple beats before he clarified. "I'm returning to Adreshulde to fetch earth-moving equipment and crews, then I'll be back in a few weeks. To help Bielenfeld clear their farmland."

Liesel, ever hovering to eavesdrop on grownups, gasped and grabbed Greta's arm. "But Greta's invited me to stay here while you're gone! Didn't you, Greta?"

"Liesel!" Robichaud rebuked her sharply. "Clearly Greta did _not_ invite you, because Greta had no idea I was leaving. Apologize immediately!"

Liesel hung her head in shame. "I'm sorry Daddy. I'm sorry Greta. But please can I stay?" Big tear-filled hazel eyes lifted to Greta's in entreaty. "If I go, I'll be stuck on that ship again seasick, and Daddy won't bring me back, and I'll have to stay with Uncle Edvar and –"

"_Enough_, Liesel!" Robichaud warned.

"She _is_ welcome to stay," Greta said. "We'd love to have her. Wouldn't we, Frieda?"

_Not really,_ Frieda's expression said. But to the look on Greta and Yuuri's faces, her mouth said, "Sure. Then Liesel will have time to teach me to braid my hair. That would be super."

Liesel clapped her hands in surprised delight, that Frieda wanted to do something _fun_ with her! She flew to Frieda for a cheek-to-cheek hug. Frieda manfully continued to smile at her. Though she backhanded Bertram when he reached to divide her hair into plaits. Robichaud coughed to cover wry amusement.

"It's the least we could do," asserted Yuuri. "Thank you, Robichaud. On behalf of all of Shin Makoku, I thank you deeply. We have no earth-moving equipment, and the magnitude of the problem is far beyond what we can handle with majutsu and manpower alone. If we could get agricultural output again this year –"

"You won't. Not this year," said Robichaud. "But with a lot of work, next year should be attainable."

"We haven't spoken of terms," Gwendal murmured. "I'm afraid we may have to ask for rather... _long_ terms, under the circumstances. We may need to borrow heavily just to feed ourselves this year."

"My apologies for being unclear," said Robichaud. "This is free of charge. Well, for Bielenfeld. After Bielenfeld, if you want help with Gratz and Wincott, we can discuss financial terms. I'll look into arranging grain shipments as well. I know your allies largely depend on Bielenfeld for food, and you won't find many able to make up your shortfall – they'll be too hard-pressed themselves. But Adreshulde is a grain exporter."

Yuuri and Gwendal's eyes popped wide. Conrad leaned forward. "How so? Our gratitude is immense, King Robichaud. But I'm perplexed. I trust you're not assuming that this is in payment for, oh, say, Greta's hand in marriage?"

Robichaud chuckled. "No. Hardly. No, the kingdom of Adreshulde happens to owe Aldrich von Bielenfeld a favor. He was quite surprised that I should still feel bound by this, for it's based on a discussion he and Franklin von Trondheim had with my great-grandfather. Adreshulde suffered an eruption of similar proportions to yours, in a similarly sensitive agricultural area. I gather Lord Franklin held your post at that time, Lord Conrad." Conrad nodded. Franklin was Lord of Foreign Affairs for seventy years, until he quit in protest to Stoeffel's human wars thirty years ago.

"My great-grandfather was unable to secure enough food from neighboring countries. Though Shin Makoku is distant indeed, and demons were a frightening prospect, he was desperate enough to appeal to Lord Franklin. He and his friend Aldrich visited. There was no sense in which it was to the advantage of Shin Makoku to help Adreshulde. And Adreshulde couldn't pay. But they had a long discussion about how demons and humans could possibly trust each other. My ancestor proposed that given the difference in lifespan, the only feasible basis for treaty or agreements, were inherited ones, especially on the human side. I gather Franklin approved of this argument, on spiritual grounds. But Aldrich felt it was morally unsound, because it bound generations of unborn kings to an agreement they did not make. Therefore he insisted that Bielenfeld would feed Adreshulde's people, with no strings attached nor expectation of repayment, for three years or until they could feed themselves again.

"I came early for Greta's ball, to visit Bielenfeld, to continue that discussion. That Adreshulde, or I at least, still considers that debt an obligation."

Conrad and Gwendal were smiling and shaking their heads in disbelief. "Our Lord Aldrich is amazing," Yuuri said, glowing with joy.

Robichaud frowned into his wineglass. "Actually I mostly spoke with Lord Manfred. The essence of my _great-grandsire_'s _theological_ argument, is that the _people_ of Bielenfeld and Adreshulde then entered into a sacred bond, of generosity and gratitude. Specific kings or lords were irrelevant. I'm told a younger Lord Aldrich more or less shrugged and said, _'Sure. What the hell. Bielenfeld likes to feed people. Our offer is unilateral, but you do what you like.'"_

After a long pause, Yuuri said, "Thank you. Deeply. I trust Lord Manfred also thanks you deeply. And we would be delighted to host Liesel until your return."

For the rest of dinner, Greta found she didn't quite know where to rest her eyes. There is such a thing as too generous a gift. If Robichaud _had_ demanded a princess in payment, he'd have more than earned it. She would have felt heroic accepting the bargain for the sake of Shin Makoku. It was... confusing. And she didn't like the way her heart sang, that Liesel was staying, so there was no question that Robichaud would return as he promised. That was confusing, too. After all, hadn't he just chided her behavior yet again, for being insufficiently _royal_ in her efforts, in this national crisis?

Robichaud excused himself soon after dinner to spend some quality time with his neglected daughter before bed. But on his way out, he quietly requested that Greta meet him in the garden after the children were asleep, for a word. Günter would doubtless disapprove. But under the circumstances, to refuse or to request chaperonage, was unthinkable.

-oOo-

"Princess Greta..." Robichaud began, when they were seated on a marble bench, by the light of two moons. Romantic that she was, Cecilie's gardens included 'moon' flowers, whites and pastels, blossoms open to perfume the night, seeming to glow in the moonlight. "I suspect... part of the reason I reacted so badly to your nanny deception, was that I myself was meeting you under rather... false pretenses."

_So much for the he's-going-to-ask-me-to-marry-him theory. _Greta's confusion as to what she wanted was so thorough, that this wasn't so much a let-down as a reinforcement of ambivalence.

Robichaud continued, gazing off into a particularly glowing toad lily, pale green with furry purple spots. "As I've said, I came here for a number of errands. Liesel, certainly, would like me to remarry. And that was a possibility, though... The concept there was the _'secondary market'_, that with all these human princes and lords convened, they would naturally fetch along their best _female_ candidates. Not just you. Nothing personal, you understand. How could it be? I'd never met you. You're a bit young for me. Adreshulde and Shin Makoku are too distant, too different, to be a particularly tempting alliance. And crossing my brother-in-law Edvar... Well, he'd get over it, I suppose. But Adreshulde's best interests clearly lie with Dai Cimarron.

"But that ball isn't going to happen now. And those pragmatic, cold calculations... I suspect I was deceiving myself. The truth is, I don't know... I'm not sure..." He bit his lip. "I loved my late wife Desirea, very much. I found it easier to consider a cold, calculated marriage for advantage, than to admit the possibility of ever loving again." His assured, arrogant voice grew halting in dim light. "I still talk to her, every night. To him. To my son, Chaudelaine. It would be easier, you see, to marry someone coldly. Or so I thought. But it would be impossible... to marry _you_ that way, I think.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is that... I'm finally considering whether I would like to ask you to marry me. And I would ask that you consider the same. But, know that my answer may still be, no. That I'm not ready. That I can't. And please know that I like you enough, that I hope you continue to consider any other options before you. And choose what is right for you.

"I have no right to ask this... Well, no. I suppose I do feel that Adreshulde's assistance, in Shin Makoku's time of need, does give me some right to ask this. In any event, I _will_. The thing is, in about a month, I'll return to Shin Makoku, for what I expect will be the very last time. Your father Wolfram tells me that you do have other offers of matrimony before you. I'm not ready to ask you to marry me. And if you said yes, today, I feel it would be for the wrong reasons. But I ask that you consider your other offers, and attempt to become ready to _decide,_ before I return."

After a few moments of them both gazing off into the glowing toad lilies, Greta ventured softly, "What was he like? Chaudelaine?"

Robichaud's head snapped up from his toad lily reverie, his eyes flashing stricken to hers, in sudden hurt. He swallowed and looked away. "He was seven. He was club-footed. He was slow at learning. He had many medical problems. I ignored a sign, from divine Shadrach, warning me off a road in the fire mountains. A landslide forced Desirea and I to spend the night in a cave of foul vapors, while she was pregnant with him. We feared it was us, that we could not have healthy children, but Liesel turned out fine... So I believe that cave was the cause of Chaudelaine's ills. I tutored him every night. He was so proud, when he could finally write a birthday card for my wife Desirea, for her last birthday. He had a smile like the sun. And I loved him very, very much."

"I'm so sorry," Greta whispered. It was presumptious, but a confidence like that, murmured in intimate conditions such as these, required more than words. She took his hand and pressed it.

She never expected that chaste touch to feel any different from holding Frieda's hand, or Yuuri's or Wolfram's, to comfort them. How could it? Yet wordless, he pressed her hand in return. And her body reacted to that electric touch, right down to her core.

"I promise," she said. "I'll do as you ask."

Slowly he rose, and she along with him, their hands still clasped, both looking at their joined hands. Then Robichaud seemed to pull his composure back together. He gave a final little squeeze and sigh, and let go her hand. He bowed, and wordlessly left the garden.

Sinking back to the bench, still tingling, heart still racing, Greta cradled her hand and stared at the moon-glowing flowers. She tried to consider what she'd just heard, rationally. But her head simply refused to think. She felt the tingling and heart pounding, and the cool smooth marble bench beneath her, with crystal clarity. She smelled the individual strains of the night flowers' perfumes, and the scents of the more colorful flowers and greenery, black and anonymous in the moonlight. She saw every beautiful detail of the blue-spotted lavender toad lily blossom, and wondered at the infinitesimal rainbows in the dew drops on the petals and hairy stamens, refracting the thin moonlight. She heard the night birds and chirping insects, and the singing frogs nearby, not as background white noise, but as individual strains of music. And eventually, replete with that beauty, she wandered up to bed in a daze, senses still preternaturally heightened, noting the smoothness of her sheets, the fluffy clumps of goosedown within her pillow, the hypnotic ticking of the clock down the hall, the beautiful quiet susurrus of bats outside her window. And she fell asleep soaking up beauty with all senses, her mind still simply refusing to think at all.

-oOo-

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews energize me to write again._


	4. Death of a Lord

Kyou Kara Maou – Well of the Five Kings

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Death of a Lord (Aristocrat).

_AN:_ Sorry this chapter's taken me a while. Nadirs are hard... And this one got _way_ too long, but I'd feel like an idiot putting off _'Death of a Lord'_ twice...

This is as close as I've ever gotten to song fiction. Music notes are at the end – selected lyrics, where you can hear the songs, etc. Listening to _Sora,_ at least, before reading that section, would really help.

Chapter dedicated to DemiDaemon, who likes female power. Sorry it's mostly ceremonial here.

**Chapter 4 – Death of a Lord**

_May 21st…_

_**"Chichiue!!"**_ Bertram, Frieda, and Ekaterin screeched, and ran to tackle Wolfram, the moment he alighted in the Blood Pledge Castle bailey yard. Yuuri and Greta smiled broadly, and hung back by the side of the entrance gallery. Wolfram made his much-impeded way to them, while the rest of the clan von Bielenfeld clambered out of the cheap hired carriages that bore them up from the river harbor.

The summit meeting invoked by Marshall Alana Lady Trondheim, was a whirlwind affair by demon standards. They would attempt to cover all business in 24 hours, sunset to sunset, to enable the return to emergency disaster relief efforts as quickly as possible. Naturally, the long-lived demons preferred a more deliberate pace. But this afternoon, the stressed high Mazoku thronged the bailey to address urgent business with newer arrivals before the formal meetings began.

"Hello! Yes, I've missed you, Bertram!" cried Wolfram. "Look at your hair all in braids, Frieda! Yes, _'Up!'_, Ekaterin!" _Cough._ "Yes, Bertram, I see you!" _Cough._ "Don't I get to say hello to Wimpue, too? Hello, Avram!" He planted a kiss on Avram's forehead, and a quick kiss on Yuuri's cheek as well. "Greta!" _Kiss. Cough._ "Down, Bertram. Is King Robichaud still here?"

"Mn-nn," Greta shook her head. "He left yesterday."

Wolfram took her chin in his hand, and gave her a searching look. "Did he propose to you?"

"Mn-nn," Greta said. "Maybe when he comes back –"

"Ah, well! His loss!" Wolfram said, clearly cheered by this news. He gave her a quick hug. "Don't worry, sweetling. We'll get you married to the right man, when things aren't so chaotic! We'll find a minute to talk, I promise. Right _now,_ though, I have a zillion things to do! So I'll see _you, _and _you,_ and _you-and-you-and-you,_ later, at the ceremony!" And Wolfram swept off up the gallery and was gone.

"Welcome home," murmured Yuuri, to his receding back. He and Greta shared an understanding glance. _Abandoned again._

"Hey, Foxy!" Manfred reached for the baby. Avram stared blankly while Manfred took him from Yuuri's arms, then started to smile. Manfred greeted all the other milling children, too. Efram plopped down on the ground in the midst of them for a group hug, his back to Greta.

Manfred grasped Yuuri's hand firmly. "Thank you, Yuuri. Truly. It meant a great deal to me, that Avram was here safe, while... Oh, but I missed you, Foxy!" Avram removed thumb from mouth just long enough to hug Manfred's neck and kiss him, with a big smile. "Oh, thank you for the kiss! Now aren't you going to say hello to Aldrich-Chichiue?"

It wasn't until then that it registered on Yuuri and Greta, that it was indeed Aldrich beside Manfred. Aldrich's hair was shockingly cropped to half an inch long. What little was left looked more grizzled than yellow, the once-vivid royal blue streaks frankly grey. His skin sagged, under lavender-bruised eyes and along the jawline, cheeks hollowed, jawbones jutted out. His clothes hung on his gaunt frame. But it was his affect, that was most unfamiliar. In his eyes, vivid green in recurved troll-elfin orbits, the usual genius and assurance and humor, were snuffed. His lopsided smile was replaced by a grim mouth, set in pain lines. Aldrich was middle-aged by demon standards, and a half generation older than his husband Manfred. But his charisma and confidence, hunk-style good looks, and close equal friendships with younger men, made him seem youthful. But now, he seemed older than his father, the nearly octacenturion Friedrich, standing with him.

"Hi, Foxy," Aldrich rasped. He didn't reach out to touch the child.

Avram frowned at him, sucked his thumb in consternation, then turned away inside Manfred's arms. "Now, Foxy, say hi to Ald-Chichiue!" Manfred coaxed. He turned so that the baby faced Aldrich again. But Avram whiplashed his head the other way, and buried his face in Manfred's collarbone.

"He's forgotten who I am," whispered Aldrich in a dead tone.

"Well," soothed Friedrich, "a week is a long time for a baby, hm, Avram? Yes, we don't remember what happened before _nap."_ Friedrich didn't ask Avram's permission – he simply took his grandson with assurance. Avram sucked his thumb hard and stared at him. "Dietrich? Come kiss your brother."

Dietrich reluctantly let go of Aldrich long enough to kiss the baby. Then he looked back at Aldrich, tensed, waiting to see what he would do. Aldrich sighed, and stooped to kiss the baby. But Avram screeched protest and grabbed for Manfred. Manfred took Avram back in dismay. "Aldrich –"

"It doesn't matter, Manfred."

"Of course it matters. He just..."

"He'll just forget me again," said Aldrich dully. "Brendan." His brother Lord and close friend Brendan Lord Gratz pushed his way into the family reunion. "Dietrich, maybe you could go find Trenton." But Dietrich shrank to his side. Cecilie, too, seemed to be on sudden alert. Taking Robichaud's parting comments to heart, Greta had promptly volunteered as Marshall Cecilie's right hand.

Brendan launched straight into his bitch. "So? Did you test the ash? It's not acidic, right?" he demanded of Aldrich.

"Ash," echoed Aldrich. "Oh, yes – the Gratz ash sample. No, it wasn't acidic."

"Then all I needed to save the Gratz potato harvest, was the manpower to get the damned _ash_ off!" Brendan's beefy arms punctuated his points. "Instead, I get the _runaround!_ I sent the ash to _Annissina,_ because _she_ could test it. But instead she sends it to _Cecilie, _because Gratz is now _'central'_ instead of _'east'_. Then Cecilie sends it to _you!_ And then you_ sit_ on the results -"

"Brendan," Aldrich said helplessly. "I got an ash sample. I tested it. Results were returned to whoever sent me the sample."

"And who's that? _Manfred?_ Are _you_ the one who cost us the entire Gratz potato crop? We're gonna be _damned hungry_ this winter, Manfred! Our _Lord of Agriculture_ seems to have forgotten _Gratz_ is _also_ an agricultural domain! One that could still _feed us _ this year! Unlike _Bielenfeld!"_

"_**Stop!"**_ Lady Alana ordered. "Lord Gratz, you're out of line. Saving people over potatoes was the priority, until _today._ We never said we could do it all. If there are new priorities today, we set them _today._ But done is done. _Sophie! Cecilie! _ Deal with this."

Brendan stalked away into the castle. Cecilie, and Brendan's mother Sophie, headed after him. Greta made a move to follow, but Cecilie waved her back – _Stay with your family, we'll handle Brendan._

Aldrich gazed after Brendan, humiliated. Demoted to mere Lord of Agriculture, and he'd screwed _that_ up. He _did_ take it as a personal failure to have lost the Gratz potato crop! Dietrich huddled to his leg. His foster-father Brendan hadn't even acknowledged his existence. "Dietrich, please stop clinging to me," Aldrich muttered, shaking.

Efram, coughing and tired, nevertheless remained the most ebullient of the von Bielenfeld clan. He struggled up from his romp on the ground, and started shepherding Yuuri and Wolfram's children back to the nursery. Dietrich wouldn't join them, and Efram didn't press him.

"It's alright, Aldrich," soothed Alana. "It wasn't up to you. There was nothing you could have done." She reached to stroke his forehead, a habit with high-troll mothers. The gesture released feel-good pheromones to their children.

Aldrich suddenly roused with a growl, and backhanded her off. Everyone gasped!

Granted, Alana was half a foot taller than her son, with a magnificent skier's physique. Weak as he was today, Aldrich's blow wasn't much worse than a child's to her. Nevertheless, for a grown man to strike his mother was shocking for anyone. For a _Trond_ to do so – !

Before Alana could react, giant Erick Lord Trondheim, her great-nephew, vaulted down from the gallery and clasped the much-shorter Aldrich to his chest in an affable one-armed hug. "Don't trouble yourself, Tant'Alana! I've got this one! C'mon, Uncle Aldrich! You stay here, Diet. Poppi needs a little grownup time, hm?" And Erick dragged Aldrich away into the castle.

Greta's hand was over her open mouth. Yuuri's mouth hung open, too. She couldn't imagine the Trond punishment for striking Lady Alana. _Branding with a hot iron? Gelding? Banishment to a penal colony? All of the above?_

"Let me see to that for you, darling," said Friedrich, reaching up to heal away any trace of the blow from his wife's face. "Ah, it was nothing."

"I –" sputtered Alana.

"Erick's got it, darling" interrupted Friedrich. "_Let him._" Alana pursed her lips, but apparently conceded the point. She stalked off into the castle to get on with her own urgent meetings.

To Manfred, still standing before him, Yuuri ventured, "Ah, how is Aldrich...?"

"As you see," Manfred evaded. "I need to, before the ceremony... Thank you, again, Yuuri, for taking care of Avram. Diet? Maybe you could, um, find Trenton?" he suggested doubtfully.

Dietrich stood frozen to the spot. He shook his head '_no'_, woodenly.

_Both boys worship their fathers,_ Greta thought. _I'll bet Dietrich and Trenton don't know how to be best friends, when Aldrich and Brendan fight. _ She strode forward to offer the boy a soft smile and a hand. "Are you fasting until the ceremony? Me, too. But it's alright to have some juice, isn't it? There's a buffet in the ballroom. There's someone there I'd like you to meet."

Manfred nodded a grateful salute as she gently drew Dietrich away. Then he drew a deep breath, and with vast reluctance, still cuddling Avram close, Manfred at last made his way to greet his peers, the ruling Lords of Shin Makoku. Greta was glad that Conrad and Gwendal were among the first to greet him kindly, and convey the mixed welcome and condolences appropriate to Manfred's disastrous re-ascension to ruling Lord Bielenfeld.

-oOo-

As Greta walked Dietrich toward the banquet room, he swerved down a side hall, to follow the sound of singing. He stopped at an office. Inside, Erick and Aldrich stood handling paperwork, backs to the door, singing.

/ AN: Song Galileo /

"It's not in Trondish!" Greta exclaimed in surprise. Though they sang in Trond multivoice – two men singing four parts _a capella – _ she understood every word. It was a sad and beautiful song, about having to repay debts from a previous lifetime.

"Uncle Franklin wrote it for Chichiue," Dietrich explained. "For his two hundredth birthday. He sings it when he's sad." He hovered in the doorway, torn, unwilling to leave, but knowing that he shouldn't go in.

"Hey! Good to seeya!" cried Erick's diminutive elven wife Guya'k'vriel, suddenly placing hands on their shoulders. She drew them away from the door and closed it on Erick and Aldrich. She gave a cheerful little jerk of her head to indicate the men inside. "I think they need a little space to angst. No worries, right, Diet?"

"Is Lord Erick going to punish Chichiue?" Greta was glad Dietrich asked – she didn't dare.

Guya laughed gently. "No, sweet Diet. Your father's still pretty sick from what happened in Wincott, isn't he? We don't punish people for being sick, right? We help them get better. That's all Erick's doing. Just a little shaman ministry." She winked at him. "Oh, hey! If Manfred keeps the Lordship, maybe we'll see you at Trond Hall more, huh, Diet? We'd love to have you! And I _know_ it'd make your grandparents _very_ happy!"

Dietrich nodded and tried to smile. Guya parted ways from them back at the main hall. The muffled voices behind them had switched to a more upbeat song, about taking your troubles to the rooftop.

/ AN: Song Up the Ladder to the Roof /

"Why would you spend more time in Trondheim?" Greta asked Dietrich casually, as they resumed their stroll.

"Chichiue's von Trondheim von Bielenfeld," replied Dietrich. "If he's not Lord or heir in Bielenfeld, he has to work for both domains."

"Oh!" said Greta, taken aback. "I'm sorry."

Dietrich shot her a defensive look. "It's a birthright. Not a burden."

As he cast his eyes down, Greta imagined what thin comfort that old saying was. Then she realized the words applied to Dietrich and herself every bit as much as Aldrich. _It's a birthright. Not a burden. The truth is more like, the birthright __**is also**__ a burden._ But they arrived at the banquet hall, where Liesel was having fun helping the maids supply the buffet.

"Liesel, I'd like you to meet my kinsman Lord Dietrich von Bielenfeld," Greta introduced. "Dietrich, this is our guest, Princess Liesel of Adreshulde."

Liesel was quick to ply Dietrich with goodies he refused to eat before tonight's ceremony. "I'm fasting," he objected weakly.

"Do you like to help in the kitchen?" Liesel suggested hopefully.

"Not really," said Dietrich.

"I could show you around the castle!"

"I've known this castle all my life."

"She's human," said Trenton von Gratz, joining them at the juice bar.

"That's not nice," said Dietrich half-heartedly. "'Course she's human. She's the daughter of one of Greta's suitors." Dietrich deplored any hint of meanness. However, Trenton had a point.

Trenton nodded. "That's true. But she's a girl."

"_I'm _human," Greta pointed out.

Trenton grinned. "You're a girl, too."

Despite his best efforts to stay morose, Dietrich broke out in a grin at his best friend.

"Baths," Trenton suggested, dimples at maximum. "Gotta be _pure_ for the ceremony!"

Dietrich nodded enthusiastically. He bowed a courteous leave from Princess Liesel. Then he scampered off with Trenton to cannonball into the girl-free cold outdoor baths. _Boys..._

"How old are they?" asked Liesel.

Greta gave her a brave smile. "They're a little older than your father. Say, Liesel, why don't you go to the nursery? My Uncle Efram looks just like Bertram! Sorry, I can't spend much time with you tonight or tomorrow." Liesel accepted that, and left for the children's realm.

-oOo-

Greta cast her eye around the banquet hall, looking to make herself useful. She shook her head _'no'_ at Doria's passing tray of wine goblets, already feeling a bit light-headed from the day-long fast. She spied no obvious need for her services just now. But Wolfram and Yuuri, in separate conversations, weren't far from where Manfred and Avram visited with Evrinne von Tarkenburg and her son Sylvain Lord Donaghie. Greta drifted that way.

Manfred and his conversation partners gratefully accepted glasses of wine from Doria's tray. Avram predictably dunked his thumb in Manfred's wine, then back in his mouth. Horrifed, Yuuri rushed toward them, waving _No-no!_ at Avram.

Manfred ignored him. "What do you think, Foxy?" Little Avram grinned and gave an exaggerated nod of approval. "That's right! Good boy! That's one of _our_ best vintages! Yuuri, what ails you?"

For Yuuri was now standing there agog. "I – ah – you let Avram dip wine?"

"Of course. I've tried it on all my sons. But you're the first with the taste buds, aren't you, Foxy? No double-dipping, you'll spoil your palette. Wolfram'll pass out after two glasses. And Shinou help us all if Efram sheds his inhibitions." Evrinne and Sylvain laughed. "Finally, I've found the true heir to my vineyards. Right, Foxy?"

Wolfram of course moved to join them at the first mention of his name. Now he stopped dead. "But, Chichiue – the vineyards are _my_ inheritance. And Bertram's, after me."

Evrinne and Sylvain found somewhere else to be.

"No," Manfred corrected off-handedly. "The MvB _plantation_ is your inheritance. Not all the _plants_ in it." The quip just made Wolfram's eyes glitter in anger. Manfred frowned quellingly. "MvB is one of the wealthiest plantations in Bielenfeld, pretty vixen. The Lord Squire's tax income is more than sufficient. _Besides,_ I'm not _dead _yet, am I? What, did you think I'd leave nothing to your brothers?"

Wolfram flushed. "Of course _I_ would take care of my younger brothers!"

"Hardly the time or place, I should think, Lord Wolfram," said Friedrich, smoothly drifting in. "I believe Lord Dubois has spare medicine. So rare that he showed up for a meeting. I suggest you go pounce before he escapes." In a huff, Wolfram turned on his heel and headed for Dubois.

Friedrich lifted Manfred's wine glass from him. "Mind if I have the second half? All I can take on an empty stomach and keep my wits about me. But it's been a trying day."

With a wry green-eyed demon smile, Manfred took the hint. _Watch my drinking. And watch my mouth, eh, Uncle?_

Greta sadly saw that Wolfram – who'd been happily animated, busy and feeling important and needed, ever since he'd blown into the castle – was still in a huffa-puffa Wolfram mood. That wasn't going to work, at cajoling medical stores out of Lord René, who wasn't one to offer anything to anybody outside Dubois. _I hope you cool down, too, Wolfram. But Manfred's right. You don't need to inherit everything, and leave your brothers with nothing..._

Clearly disgusted with himself over his wine-dipping follies with Avram, Yuuri wandered off to talk to Conrad. Greta sadly realized that he'd missed how upset Wolfram was over _'losing'_ part of his inheritance to the baby. She considered telling him, but spotted Brendan coming into the hall. _That's my business, not playing go-between in Yuuri and Wolfram's marriage._

She spoke with Brendan, leading with the thin excuse of telling him the boys were playing outside in the baths. Then she shared with him her concerns about Dietrich. That Aldrich seemed in bad shape, and emotionally unstable. How terrifying for the boy, whose late mother was insane. And Manfred was overwhelmed. She hoped that having a couple days off would help. Dietrich was working so hard as a healer, way beyond his maturity or training. Having Trenton and Brendan here to lean on, would be a blessing for him.

Technically, Greta had only been Cecilie's assistant for two days. In practice, she'd been Cecilie's understudy for years. Without quite butting in, or offensively telling Brendan a thing, she got her points across. He heard her, and thanked her for it.

-oOo-

"Everyone's so _stressed!"_ Efram exclaimed to Greta. He plopped down beside her on a couch, in a spot just vacated by Lady Alana's second, Lady Ilya. He looked haggard, and coughed repeatedly. The top half of his face was still grey from the ash, the bottom white from the ash masks. Still surveying the room, rather than meeting her eye, he barreled blithely on. "Wolfram looks like he's got a hot poker up his – So, Princess Greta. You gonna marry the handsome King Robichaud? You should."

On automatic, Greta instantly regressed from mature royal princess, to teased adolescent girl. "Oh, I should, should I? Why's that?"

"His kid's cute. You'd make a great stepmom. Stepkids are fun. Look at us, we're stepkids!" He smiled his pixie grin, though only met her eye with it for a split second. Then he turned serious. "Robichaud's good folk. And we owe him. _Bigtime._" Enough with the seriousness. Efram bounded back up from the couch. "Well, I must away. Mission of mercy, cast a ray of sunshine into the shellshocked existence of milord Pop."

And he bounced over to a nearby couch where Manfred and Friedrich sat talking, and shoved in between them. "Lord Chichiue! And great, great-great, great-great-great –"

"_Enough,"_ growled Friedrich.

" – Grandfather!" Efram continued. "I realize this is a bad time. But – there's something I simply must get off my chest. I – I – I think I'm straight."

Friedrich cracked up immediately. Manfred groaned and put a hand to the bridge of his nose. But Efram was relentless. "Oh, I know, oh liegely Chichiue! The _shame!_ Our bloodline, proudly descended from the truly ambisexual, asexual, great, um, dogwood tree, has stood pure and bisexual all these years. And I! The reincarnation of our most exemplary, um –"

"Flaming queen," Manfred supplied.

"Exactly! Can you, could you ever, forgive me, if it were so? Could the family possibly accept a – _gasp!_ – straight son polluting the lineage?"

"Worse things have happened," allowed Friedrich.

Manfred matched his dark grin. "Well, you're young yet, son. Try to keep an open mind."

"But – you'll accept me? As your second-born male? Even if I never take another man to bed?"

"Ah – yes. Second-born male. That would be you."

Efram leapt from the couch. "Thank you thank you! Ah, the weight off my mind! So – mind if I go take a bath for an hour? I need to make myself pretty – oops. I mean,_ manly! _ With the smell of good clean masculine sweat! For the Ladies at the ceremony."

"_Go,"_ agreed Manfred. He left.

"Well, I don't believe it for a moment," Friedrich quipped. "It's a phase. He'll outgrow it. What do you think?"

"I think he's a _virgin," _ Manfred chuckled.

"_Definitely. _Does nothing ever faze that boy?"

"Not for long. Praise Shinou I've got him. He keeps me from going sane. Shinou help me if I start facing reality this week."

"Mm, keep a happy thought," agreed Friedrich. And refreshed, the two men rose from their break, and mixed back into the crowd.

Only then did Greta realize the confrontation she'd dreaded – facing Efram with her plans to marry – was already over. _On Efram's terms._

-oOo-

The council chamber had undergone an awesome transformation. Even though she helped with the finishing touches, Greta found she saw it with fresh eyes as the Aristocrats' families filed in, hushed and reverent. The tables were gone to make room for more chairs. The room focused on the eastern corner, where Lady Alana and her second, her niece Ilya, stood like enormous statues, facing the audience. To Alana's right flowed the water wall of Shinou and Yuuri, glowing blue, Yuuri seated in his gilded chair beneath it. To her left, another sheet of orange and green flame danced for the Prince of Darkness, Garena, a smaller empty chair set beneath it. The west and north corners stood empty and dark. To the south stood Annissina with Giesela, also statue-still and facing Alana. Greta stood as second with Cecilie, on a little dais added at the center.

The women's outfits were not coordinated – each woman wore her sober best. Shaman Alana wore her arms and upper chest bare except for golden torques sporting precious stones, over tight brown leather corset, tipped and laced with scarlet, with matching tight leather pants beneath, plus her signature cape bustle tacked onto the backside, as a token nod to a skirt. Sunglasses were beneath the dignity of the occasion – she must have worn contacts. Ilya wore her full regalia as a warrior priestess, from her years in Shinou's temple, armored breast cups and all, minus the spear. Annissina chose her everyday square-collared dress, Giesela her army healer-sergeant uniform. Cecilie's '_sober best'_ involved a _'little black dress'_, stiletto heels, and her best jewels. Greta herself elected a brocaded silk mandarin pantsuit in lavender, which Yuuri's mother Miko had given her. She thought it matched Yuuri's attire, and Yuuri was too kind to explain his amusement.

Wolfram brought in the children. Bertram escaped to stick his hand into the flame fountain in delight – clearly it didn't hurt. But Wolfram quickly squelched that, and hustled them to sit with the von Bielenfelds. Greta smiled at how Grendel _asked his father first,_ then walked solemnly with Gwendal to touch both fountains. Annissina smiled warm and proud approval, and Gwendal and Grendel beamed it right back at her.

_All_ the ruling Lords were here tonight, even Stoeffel Lord Spitzweg and René Lord Dubois – an extraordinary event. To Greta's surprise, _Aldrich_ sought out Stoeffel, and exchanged a brief embrace before joining his family.

The great doors closed promptly on time, everyone in their seats. The lights were extinguished, except for the magical fountains flanking Alana. She stepped forward in their glow, arms raised to command silence. "I, Alana von Bielenfeld Lady Trondheim, of the eastern mountains, land of the rising moon, marshall the Mazoku forces to the defense of Shin Makoku! _**The east shall hold!**_ _I call the south!"_

Light blossomed on Annissina and Giesela. "I, Annissina von Khrennikov Lady Walde, hear and answer for the southern harbors and Mizrati borders! _**The south shall hold!"**_

"_I call the center!"_ Alana boomed.

Another spotlight lit Cecilie and Greta's central dais. "I, Lady Cecilie von Spitzweg, hear and answer for the heartland of Shin Makoku! _**The center shall hold!"**_

"_I call the west!"_ Alana cried. She waited a few theatrical heartbeats, as though expecting an answer. "But the west lies vacant, since Danielle von Spitzweg Lady Donaghie was called home years ago.

"_I call the north!"_ Alana continued. Such was her command of the ceremony that tears were already standing in Greta's eyes. She gulped when Alana cried louder, _"I call Kattrin Abercrombie Lady Wincott of the north!"_

But there was no answer. Nor would there be. Gentle Kattrin had passed from her coma into death, two days before. Alana's voice fell softer, and sorrowful. "And I call Kattrin Abercrombie heroine! And I call her home! Dire days have befallen Shin Makoku. And the north and west stand vacant." The empty corners were deeply dark. "This cannot be! The Ladies have consulted. We are decided. We are as one.

"_Evrinne von Tarkenburg!"_ Light bloomed on Evrinne, who slowly stood. Many heads turned in surprise, for they hadn't considered this choice. Evrinne was only a Squire's daughter, wife to another Squire's heir. But her son Sylvain now ruled as Lord Donaghie, over Shin Makoku's western domain. His orphaned wife Kieran was too young to appoint Marshall. Whereas her mother-in-law Evrinne was a confident woman in her prime, daughter of General von Dienst, well tutored in military defense, wise in politics and hospitality and commerce, and formidable as a fire demon. Heads nodded – she was a good choice to safeguard the west and train up young Kieran. The two women took the western corner.

"_Sophie von Bielenfeld von Gratz!"_ Another spotlight fell on Adelbert and Brendan's mother, an elegant tall blonde, much-younger sister to Friedrich von Bielenfeld, and raised as his daughter. Her younger sister Phoebe – Manfred's adoptive mother – joined her to take station at the north. Heads nodded with no surprise. The north was beleaguered. The indomitable Sophie and industrious Phoebe were equal to the task.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" cried Alana, lip quirked up in a fey grin. She called the litany again, up to, _"I call the west!"_

"I, Lady Evrinne von Tark -, um." She could be forgiven for stumbling over her name – her appointment to Marshall conferred Aristocrat rank, to her husband Soujourn as well as herself. "I, Lady Evrinne von Dienst von Tarkenburg, hear and answer for the western hills and forests, coasts and fields! _**The west shall hold!"**_

"_I call the north!"_

"I, Lady Sophie von Bielenfeld von Gratz, hear and answer for the agricultural might, the mighty rivers, the majestic mountains of the north! Our people are sorely tried! Our fields lie under ash! But our spirit_ shall prevail! __**The north shall hold!"**_

The litany complete, the five Marshalls and their seconds held their hands high. From their spread palms, a sheet of soft white light grew, a simple form of the protective spells Efram and Günter wielded. They merged into a glowing shield domed above Cecile and Greta. His Maou glow upon him, Yuuri stood, and touched the light shield as though in benediction. A brilliance of blue lightning shot through the power shield, setting it sparkling with crystalline patterns, like twinkling stars and snowflakes.

"The shield is repaired!" cried Alana. "The defense of Shin Makoku is whole!" The dome grew and rose, and continued right past the confines of the room.

-oOo-

The celebrants in their chamber couldn't see it. But every other man, woman, and child in Shin Makoku did. For the Aristocrats were the source, not the audience, of this working. The dome continued to rise and grow and glimmer in the night sky, to shine from coast to coast, mountain range to mountain range, above all Shin Makoku. It twinkled in brilliant blue-white, over everyone, until its light dissipated with the dawn. It was sent as reassurance, that the Lady Marshalls, and all the Aristocrats, still stretched their hands of power over all the land in protection.

This night had been declared throughout Shin Makoku, as the national night of mourning, for the fallen of the disaster up north.

-oOo-

As the glowing shield left the Aristocrats' chamber, the spotlights dimmed over the Marshalls. Alana stepped forward again in the gloom to speak alone, quietly. "We gather here to mourn the passing of so many, many citizens of Shin Makoku, in the earthquakes and volcanic eruption in the north. I call upon the Prince of Darkness!"

Raised eyebrows and surprised looks were exchanged in the audience at this. The normal invocation was of Shinou, not the strange new Prince of Darkness Garena, of the new firewall beside the familiar water wall. Though Garena's role was increasing, it was still not well defined or accepted. Time and experience would tell what a Prince of Darkness really was. But the Aristocrats all knew that Shinou had incarnated into mortal childhood again. And Alana would never invoke Shinou, whom her people called the Genocide.

Looking a bit surprised himself, Garena nevertheless appeared in response to her summons. Standing against the orange and green fire of his reserved place, fair hair and skin above tight black silver-buckled leathers, he looked uncannily like Wolfram and Manfred when he put aside his weird hairstyles.

"The Prince of Darkness answers," replied Garena. "What do you ask of me?"

"I ask that you summon home the souls of the dead from the north," Alana replied. And after a long pause, Lady Sophie played a simple low accompaniment, on a stand-up piano-like instrument near her corner. Alana began to sing, solo at first, a powerful alto.

/ AN: _Sora_, from _Escaflowne_. Except carries on much longer. /

Greta learned the song as a girl, soon after she came to Shin Makoku. All Mazoku girls knew it by heart. Boys didn't sing it, and she'd never wondered why. She'd thought the lyrics simple nonsense words. But in preparation for tonight's ceremony, Alana had them thoroughly researched, to ensure she wasn't singing Shinou's praises. But the words were far older than Shinou or Shin Makoku, in a centaur language lost to antiquity.

At the first refrain, the other women joined Alana in song. By the next chorus, some strong male voices joined as well, underlaying rich basses and baritones and tenor strains.

Meanwhile, Garena beckoned Yuuri join him toward the center of the room. Dreamlike, they slowly faced off across the central dais, which Cecilie and Greta ceded to them. Yuuri followed Garena's lead, as though reminded of a dance he knew eons ago. They moved their hands with the soaring singing voices. And in the dim room, bright soul balls appeared, summoned in time with the music.

A dry eye was impossible. The soul spheres danced into the audience with the music, greeting friends. They clustered especially thickly about the northern Aristocrats. But no one in the room was without friends and family lost in the north. The Mazoku embraced each other, or clasped a shoulder or hand in condolence. The new Lord Soujourn von Tarkenburg held up his weeping father-in-law Gregor von Dienst and his orphaned grandson. Stoeffel, Cecilie's brother, was on his knees weeping, Raven's arm around him. It was hard to see the von Bielenfelds, the soul lights clustered so thickly toward the north. But because his baritone was so strong, Greta heard Aldrich's voice break several times, though Manfred and Efram and Wolfram's held strong and true. She thought a particularly clear high soprano back there might be Dietrich, for it joined in with the men. That voice broke often.

As the song closed, the spheres rose in a final circuit around the room, and drifted into the wall fountains of fire and water. When the song ended, they were gone.

"We are complete," announced Alana, bowing her head.

Before people could start milling around overmuch, Gwendal announced, "We will reconvene – without the children – in an hour. Please break fast with us in the banquet hall."

Greta was amazed to see Gwendal then join Annissina for a big hug, and share a kiss – a public display of affection! Annissina hugged Grendel as well, and the three, joined by Annissina's brother Lord Khrennikov, led the way to the banquet arm in arm. _Maybe I need to rethink my opinion of their marriage,_ she pondered.

"Pardon me, Greta. I need to be with my poor brother," Cecilie excused herself, with a quick peck to her cheek.

"What's wrong?" asked Greta.

"Aldrich completed negotiations for Stoeffel to marry Kattrin. The wedding was to be announced soon. Such tragic timing."

Looking around, a number of interchanges yanked at Greta's heartstrings, almost making her cry again. Gregor von Dienst rallied to mock-chide his new Lady daughter for calling him _'Chichiue'_ – and him a mere Squire and working soldier! Sophie von Gratz, moved by the ceremony, finally introduced herself to her granddaughter Frieda. Brendan shook hands with Manfred to make peace, and invited Dietrich to join them for dinner, to celebrate Sophie's great honor. This left Manfred without children to worry about, save Avram, who'd been amiably stuffed in his arms since Manfred arrived. Manfred's in-law von Trondheims and father Garena clustered with him about Aldrich and Friedrich, who were still sobbing.

As Greta joined Yuuri for a hug, and to go with Wolfram and the kids as a family to the banquet hall, she felt her heart torn in two. Just two nights ago, after a simple touch of the hand, she felt she could fly to Adreshulde if Robichaud asked. Yet... This was her home. Everyone in this room, was family. The magic, the wonder, the beloved family of Shin Makoku. Powerful women respected as equals. Religions that _meant_ something to her, tangible and real. She was a _part_ of this. She was _one _ of the strong women who protected this realm. Her heart and will and love and soul were _bound_ into that glowing shield in the night sky. _As Lady Weller or Lady von Gratz, or Murata Greta, I could belong here. _Yet...

_I'm human. None of those soul spheres shall ever be mine. _

Yet..._ Faith in some lousy virgin-eating volcano god Shadrach shall never be mine, either._ And a brief touch of the hand, a short acquaintance and a sweet daughter, seemed but a wisp of mist, compared to this. And tonight was minor magic, compared to all she'd seen, the water dragons and real dragons and new moons, centaur and faun babies reborn, the whole other _world_ she'd seen, as Yuuri's daughter.

_I thought you begged an easy promise of me, Robichaud of Adreshulde – merely to become ready to decide. But clearly you knew far better than I did, how hard it could be._

-oOo-

"Get out of my _chair,_ René," ordered Krispin Lord Krist, facing down the perpetually absentee Lord Dubois, who'd assumed the senior Aristocrat's chair, held so recently by Lord Wincott. Günter's cousin and liege, Krispin was perhaps a century older than Cecilie.

"_I_ am the senior, Krispin, _hic,_" insisted René, holding onto the chair. "I inherited – _hic – _ten years before you!"

"_I_ say seniority goes by _meetings actually attended._ Which puts you somewhere junior to Lord Trondheim. Anyone _else_ disagree with me?"

There were unanimous catcalls against René as _'senior'_. Though Erick von Trondheim pointed out that though undeniably youngest, he actually had seniority over Manfred, despite Manfred's previous stint as Lord Bielenfeld. No doubt due to the frequent – and often fatal – conflicts along their domain border, Krispin's apology for mistaking Erick's seniority was respectful and elegant. René grudgingly took a seat at the back. They still weren't in normal order, as the Ladies and their seconds were still included. Oddly, Garena had stuck around as well. The children were elsewhere, zooming off their long-awaited supper carbo loads. Except for baby Avram, whom Manfred seemed unwilling to let go of.

"Alright, everyone," said Krispin. "I know it's late. But we have two items I feel must be settled tonight. Firstly – and merely as a formality – the succession of Bielenfeld." Manfred frowned repressively. Krispin held open his hands in a pax gesture. "I did say _'formality',_ Manfred. It's my understanding that _you_ are now Lord Bielenfeld, simple. Not Regent for Lord Aldrich. Correct?"

_"Temporary,"_ growled Manfred.

Krispin stared at him, lips pursed. Manfred stared back, belligerantly. Krispin selected another victim. "Lord von Tarkenburg." Soujourn von Tarkenburg jolted upright, once he remembered his new name. He looked very much like he regretted coming to keep his wife company tonight. "You are a member of the Bielenfeld conference of Squires? And you were present when Lord Manfred was confirmed by them this week, yes? Please tell me Bielenfeld hasn't invented yet _another_ interpretation of your five thousand year old charter? A _temporary _– not _Regent_ but _temporary –_ Lord Bielenfeld?"

"No, Lord Krispin," Soujourn reluctantly agreed. "We confirmed Manfred Lord Bielenfeld. _Simple."_ And wild horses could not have dragged that story out of him. Though by this point in the evening, everyone present already knew the outline. After Aldrich came out of his coma, Soujourn visited him. There were only rumors of what exactly passed between them in that room, but the upshot was that Soujourn told his father the Tark that Aldrich was not fit to resume the Lordship. And the Tark persuaded a sufficient number of his brother Squires. At an emergency Squire's conference, Aldrich was formally deposed and Manfred's Regency turned to succession.

"Thank you, Lord von Tarkenburg. _As a formality,_ do the Eleven confirm and acknowledge Manfred Lord Bielenfeld? All opposed? All in favor? Sire, do you wish to veto? It's unanimous. We confirm Manfred Lord Bielenfeld. Congratulations, Manfred." Manfred looked singularly ungrateful. Aldrich remained slumped, face in hand, as he'd been since the beginning of the interchange.

"Secondly," Krispin said, more subdued. "Going into this meeting, we... suspected... that regency or succession of Wincott... might need to be discussed. But, during our ceremony... Garena, Prince of Darkness, can you confirm, please? Am I mistaken, or are Elliot Lord Wincott, and his grandson the heir...?"

Garena disappeared for a few moments, then reappeared, in his small throne beneath the wall of fire. "It is confirmed. They died this afternoon."

"I thought so," murmured Krispin. "May their souls rest safe with Shinou. A moment of silence."

Manfred took the moment to see if he could comfort Aldrich any. Aldrich had been... uncharacteristically despondent, among other things... ever since he'd regained consciousness. But this evening, his husband seemed to be sinking. But Krispin's next words shocked Manfred bolt upright. This he hadn't considered!

"I'd like to expedite this as much as possible," Krispin said, "for these proceedings may be... painful. The next heir to Wincott is the child, Dietrich von Wincott von Bielenfeld. Given the dire straits of Wincott at this time, I believe we can agree that installing a child heir with regent, is inappropriate at this time. Aldrich von Trondheim von Bielenfeld."

"Don't do this, Krispin," croaked Aldrich. "It's obscene. Glynda von Wincott killed herself because I planned to divorce her."

"I'm sorry, Aldrich, I truly am. But the facts remain. That divorce never took place. Glynda died with your marriage intact. You are presently not Lord of a domain, and thus available to the succession of Wincott. Your son is the rightful heir, but too young to inherit. The natural next step is to install you as Lord Wincott, simple, and to let Dietrich inherit in due course.

"So I have to ask. Does anyone here assembled know of any reason Aldrich von Wincott von Trondheim von Bielenfeld, is not fit to inherit Wincott." To Manfred and Aldrich's looks of pain and rage, Krispin added softly, "I don't ask if he would _like_ it."

Many heads turned, many eyes met in calculation and consideration. Eventually, Erick raised his arm to speak. "I believe Lord Aldrich is _currently_ not yet recovered from his ordeal a week ago. I also believe that Lord Aldrich on a _bad _ day is still one of the best among us."

"Agreed, well said," Krispin thanked Erick. Assent murmured around the room. "Manfred. Friedrich. Soujourn. I especially ask _you._ Do _you_ know of any reason Aldrich could not rule Wincott?"

Despite clear misgivings and personal grief, all three grudgingly shook their heads, _no._ It was as Erick had said. Aldrich was not himself again yet. But in the long run, he was fit to inherit. And it was a question of the long run, after all. In the short run, Winvale wasn't fit to _inhabit._

"Aldrich, old friend," Krispin said gently. "I do not ask you if you want this. I know that you do not. But please know that it's not just by accident. When you remarried, Elliot and I provided legal counsel to you and Manfred. We discussed whether he would release you from your marriage contract to Glynda. And I know for a fact, that Elliot did not wish to. He was grateful for that small favor in the midst of that sad, sad business. That her death left you still as his beloved son-in-law."

A sob escaped Aldrich at that. "And Elliot, my father-in-law. I loved him, too."

"I know you did. So. Will you cast away Dietrich's rightful inheritance? Knowing that _Elliot_ would have wanted you to take his domain? Or will you do this thing?"

Aldrich swallowed and clenched his eyes in pain. Manfred gritted his teeth beside him. Then Manfred buried his face in sleeping little Avram's hair, as Aldrich slowly whispered, "I will do this thing."

With no playfulness whatsoever this time, Krispin quietly asked, "All opposed? All in favor? Sire, do you veto? It's unanimous. We confirm Aldrich Lord Wincott. I'm very sorry, Aldrich. Congratulations."

"Why didn't you say anything?" Manfred asked Aldrich, through gritted teeth. "You knew..."

"You knew, too," said Aldrich. "You just didn't want to look at it. And you were already overwhelmed. I... didn't want to look at it, either."

But Krispin wasn't quite finished yet. "I'm sorry, Lord Manfred. I have one further formality, then we can disperse for the night." Garena rose and tried to get his attention. "I'm sorry, Prince of Darkness, it will have to wait for tomorrow. Manfred? Who is your heir?"

Greta naturally turned to smile proudly at Wolfram, seated by Yuuri and Gwendal under the wall of water. So she didn't see the urgent gestures from Friedrich, Erick, and Brendan, of the neck-slicing variety, to remind Manfred he could punt on this question. Instead, she saw the point of impact.

"Efram," Manfred replied. "My second son Efram, is my heir."

"Thank you. We are adjourned," Krispin said hastily. The room emptied quickly – well, they _fled_, actually, no strangers these to the von Bielenfeld fire temperament.

-oOo-

**Selected lyrics and music notes:**

_**Galileo**_

_... Galileo's head was on the block - his crime was looking at the truth._

_And as the bombshells of my daily fears explode, I try to trace them to my youth._

_Then you had to bring up reincarnation, over a couple a beers the other night._

_Now I'm serving time for mistakes made by another in another lifetime._

_/ Refrain /_

_How long til my soul gets it right?_

_Can any human being ever reach that kind of height?_

_I call on the resting soul of Galileo, king of night vision, king of insight._

_... I'm not making a joke. You know me, I take everything so seriously._

_If we wait for the time til our souls get it right,_

_then at least I know there'll be no nuclear annihilation in my lifetime!_

_I'm still not alright._

_I offer thanks to those before me. That's all I have to say._

_Cuz maybe you squandered big bucks in your last life. Now I have to pay._

_But then again it seems like some sort of inspiration – to let the next life off the hook..._

I have the gorgeous _a capella_ version of this by Cat's Pajamas (4 vocalists, no instruments). They performed on a cruise we took in June, and I was like, "_That's it! That's Trond multivoice / Bielenfeld opera!"_ The bass singer even reminds me of Erick. Loved them so much I bought their CD's. Their website is vocal meow dot com, but unfortunately neither of these songs is sampled there. You can hear _Galileo_ performed by the Indigo Girls on YouTube.

The key point here being that poor Aldrich's last lifetime was as Theophilus von Bielenfeld, his own grandfather, the greatest Lord Bielenfeld of all time. He ruled for over 500 years, until his stunning exit, wherein he killed off himself, nearly his entire family, and half the Shin Makoku aristocracy, trying to show off his mastery of Shinou's powers. Aldrich tends to see the challenges of his life in that context, that he selected this life to start making amends to his son-father Friedrich and to the rest of the world. But he finds the sheer scale of that karmic debt overwhelming.

_**Up the Ladder to the Roof**_

_...Oh, I will try and guide you, to better times, to better days!_

_Don't be afraid to _

_/ Refrain /_

_Go up the ladder to the roof, where we can see heaven much better!_

_Go up the ladder to the roof, where we can be closer to heaven._

_...Oh, memories, broken dreams - oh don't you know, they'll all fade away?_

_If you _

_Go up the ladder to the roof...(refrain)_

Another great rendition by Cat's Pajamas. You can hear this by another _a capella_ group (not as good, IMO) called the Nylons, on Amazon MP3 downloads. The song was made a hit single by The Supremes in 1970.

There's an illustration by bananam00n on my website, from _The Ghosts of Trondheim,_ of Aldrich up on the roof of Trond Hall, visiting with the ghost of his deceased best friend Franklin von Trondheim. All the von Trondheims are shamans of this ghost cult, and Franklin especially was an ardent singer. Both these songs are for spiritual comfort. About 80 of a high Trond education involves singing in one way or another. They even learn math that way.

_Sora_, from the anime series Escaflowne, you can hear on YouTube. No idea what the Japanese lyrics mean.

-oOo-

_Sorry, really wanted to include the aftermath of that bombshell a little, but this chapter's too long... How well do we think Wolfram takes it, learning he's lost __**two**__ of his inheritances, to __**two**__ little brothers, in one night? Because of... now whose fault would that be? Heh._

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews energize me to write again._


	5. The Dispossessed

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Losing Everything, and Marriage Candidate Murata.

_AN: _Chapter dedicated to HARPGO, for advocating Candidate Murata! And pandawolf, for prodding me again. Sorry for the slow update – another hobby snagged my time for a while.

**Chapter 5 – The Dispossessed**

_Still May 21st…_

Greta fled the Aristocrats chamber with all the rest, with fearful backward glances at the little flames dancing about Manfred and Wolfram. They squared off glaring at each other, waiting for the door to close. Yuuri and Cecilie tried to intercede, but Manfred and Wolfram told them to butt out.

Unlike the concerned Yuuri and Cecilie, Manfred's nearest and dearest left promptly, abandoning Manfred to whatever fate he'd so richly earned.

"We need to teach Manfred the club signals," complained Brendan Lord Gratz.

"Good luck with that," growled Aldrich. _"Political idiot."_

"Now, son, be nice to my new liege lord. He's had a tough week," Friedrich soothed. "Shall I... help with Dietrich? While you tell Efram he's suddenly heir to Bielenfeld?"

"**No! ** _**I**_ need to talk to Dietrich! _**Now.**_" Aldrich rubbed his head in pain. _"Manfred _should be talking to Efram, not having a pissing contest with Wolfram!"

Gwendal offered quietly, "Allow me, Lord Aldrich. I know where Efram is. I'll keep him distracted until Manfred is available." Gwendal was a perfect choice. Efram ran a bit wild in his years living at Blood Pledge Castle. But he'd always minded Gwendal.

_"Thank you,_ Gwen," said Aldrich, letting out an explosive breath. Then he set off to find Dietrich, before the child could overhear anything.

_My one example of a truly happy married couple,_ recalled Greta. _Manfred and Aldrich. Aldrich didn't tell his husband this __**huge**__ thing that was hanging over his head. And now... They won't even live in the same domain anymore. Even if they don't divorce, it'll be like they're divorced._

_No one ever seems to win in this marriage game._

-oOo-

"No!" Dietrich wailed. Aldrich had tried to pull the child out of the busy ballroom buffet, to tell his son in private that his beloved grandfather Elliot and young cousin Juli were dead. But Dietrich refused to go, until Aldrich gave up and told him in public. "No! They _can't_ be!"

"Diet... You know they are. I think we felt them, during the ceremony. It's hard to accept, isn't it? But it's true." Aldrich enfolded the boy in his arms. They cried together, until Dietrich's sobs died back a bit. Then Aldrich reluctantly added, "There's more, honey. You – We – Wincott – After Juli, you were the next heir to Wincott, Diet."

"But I can't!"

"I know, they know, you're too young. And the situation in Wincott is too awful. So – I've inherited Wincott, and you, after me. We're now von Wincott, instead of von Bielenfeld."

The little boy's face crumpled again. "But – Winvale is destroyed! It's rubble and ashes! Where will we sleep?"

"I'm still married to Manfred, Diet, and we're sons of Castle Bielenfeld. We can always stay there," Aldrich soothed. "Until we rebuild Winvale."

"But what if Manfred divorces you? Like you tried to divorce Hahaue? Because you've been –"

"_Stop,_ Diet, _please!_ Don't make it even worse than it is."

"But, what happens to AvB? And FvB? We don't have a _home_ anymore!"

"Manfred inherits everything from my father now. Not me. FvB will be his after Grandfather Friedrich dies. AvB... isn't the _'AvB'_ plantation anymore. I don't know what Manfred will do with it. We can't own plantations in Bielenfeld as Lords von Wincott." A Bielenfeld _'plantation'_ was a feudal region somewhat like a county, not necessarily agricultural. Friedrich's FvB, and the ruler's plantation of Castletown, were both urban_._

"We've lost _everything!" _

Aldrich folded the boy in his arms, while Dietrich's sobs redoubled. "We'll rebuild Wincott, Diet. It won't be like this forever, honey. I promise. We'll be okay."

The words were empty, though. It was true. A week ago, Aldrich was the wealthiest man in Shin Makoku. To lose even the right to inherit from his own father, though he was Friedrich's sole surviving son, cut especially deep. And though Aldrich wouldn't discuss it with Dietrich, the child had a point about Aldrich's marriage to Manfred. '_Conflict of Aristocratic duty' is always grounds for dissolution._ And no one had been more vocal than Manfred, in begging Aldrich to set his wife Glynda aside because of her mental illness.

_Manfred doesn't believe in staying married out of duty or honor. And the kids? His, mine, and ours? I hope they'll still grow up together, not split between us. Or tossed back and forth, like I was..._

-oOo-

Manfred ignored any number of anxious offers – Cecilie tried hardest – to relieve him of baby Avram. He just held his glare-fest with Wolfram until at last the door closed and the two were alone.

"Hiding behind a _baby?"_ sneered Wolfram, hands aflame.

"Not exactly," Manfred countered. "You see, _**Son,**_I barely have enough maryoku left to light a match. _I _was up _**healing,**_ to maryoku exhaustion, until 4 am. Then I was up by 7 to cram in a full day's _**work**_ ruling Bielenfeld before we left Castletown. What little maryoku I'd recovered, I just expended on my _**husband**_. Oh, don't get me wrong. _I have enough left to __**kill**__ you._ But not, alas, to resurrect you afterwards. You'd have to stay dead."

Put that way, a cool breath of misgiving did reach Wolfram, despite his rage. He let the flames in his hands die back, and crossed his arms over his chest. This subtracted only slightly from the belligerance of his stance.

"How dare you – !" Wolfram attempted.

"How dare _**you?**_**"** Manfred cut him off. "Not that I need to ask. Your narcissistic egotism is boundless, as always. Which has nothing to do with this. _Indeed,_ I rather admire the _purity_ of your selfishness. So many alloy it with greed, or spite, or some other base motive. Whilst you somehow retain a refreshingly infantile innocence to it all. Just like your mother.

"_That's not the point._ The point _is,_ you know damned well that you _disqualified yourself _ as Heir to Bielenfeld. You married Yuuri, and bore him Ekaterin. A few years ago, when I married your mother, I offered you a chance at Bielenfeld. _Aldrich_ even offered it to you _again_, offered to set aside his own son in your favor. I told you then, and I tell you now – that was probably your very last chance. _And you turned it down._

"So pray tell me, pretty vixen – what changed?"

Wolfram, face burning, tried to cut in any number of times before this, and Manfred just ran roughshod right over him. Now, when Manfred stopped, glittering green glare demanding an answer, Wolfram flushed even harder and had to look away. He had no answer to give. Just a horrible clawing feeling within, that something of great value had been stolen from him.

Manfred left him at it some moments, then commented, "Yuuri's grown into quite the great man. You married well."

"He _is_ a great man!" Wolfram insisted.

"Agreed," said Manfred. "Wolfram... Every true choice, has regrets. If all were perfect one way, and dreadful the other – what choice is that? A real choice mingles the good and less good, in every option. You chose Yuuri. Alright. You were young and idealistic – you're _still_ too young and idealistic to marry, but anyway – you made your choice. Is it so unbearable as all that?"

"No," Wolfram admitted. "It just – Like you said. Regrets."

Manfred sighed. "Well, regrets are worth avoiding. You _will_ regret it, if you fail to congratulate Efram tonight, and offer him your heartfelt fealty. You_ will_ regret it, if you leave tomorrow without making love to Yuuri tonight. You _will_ regret begrudging Avram my vineyards. You know, Avram is my first legitimate son. He could make a strong case that his claim to inherit _everything_ from me, is superior to yours and Efram's, as mere _legitimated _sons. If he wished to annoy you.

"However, _I'm not dead yet._ Nothing would please me more than to have all my children survive me. Look to your right and your left, Wolfram. _See_ all your brothers beside you. Gwendal and Conrad, Efram and Bertram, Dietrich and Avram. I'm still a young man, not even 200 yet. By the time I'm dead, which of your brothers will still stand there, beside you? The ones who die before you – do you honestly think on that day, my funeral, you wouldn't give anything, your entire inheritance be damned – just to have them back?"

"You know I would," Wolfram whispered vehemently.

"_Yes,_ Wolfram. _I do._ You seem to forget in your little fits of pique, but _I know who you truly are. _And I love and honor you for it. Son... Whatever this is – and I think we both know what this is – _don't_ take it out on Efram. That would hurt both of you, for a long, long time. I shouldn't have sprung this thing on you, or on him. It's my fault. I could have told Krispin to piss off, I didn't feel like naming an heir today. That was all a sham anyway – Shin Makoku has no real say in Bielenfeld's succession. But I didn't think of it. I suck at politics. I never wanted to rule Bielenfeld. I don't _do _tact. I'm not _suited_ to this job. But here we are."

"In the darkest of the night," murmured Wolfram. "That's your shift, isn't it. Lifetime after lifetime. The Daystar."

The Daystar was part of the family story, part of being von Bielenfeld, caught on the wheel of reincarnation, playing the same procession of roles forever. Beside the greatest shining sun of a ruler, stood always the Daystar, eclipsed while the sun shone. But when the sun faltered, the Daystar lit the way. Oh, they swapped roles around, the souls of the Lords von Bielenfeld, over the millenia. Each stepped in and ruled sooner or later. And the day of inheritance was rarely a _good _ day. But the Daystar held special honor.

Wolfram looked up, with vulnerable eyes, and caught his father's touched and surprised gaze. He swallowed painfully and broke the eye contact. "You're doing magnificently, Chichiue. Hang in there. Dawn always comes, after the Daystar." And in reaching out to reassure his father, it felt like the rage drained out of him, leaving him hollow and numb. It didn't feel any _better._ But it wasn't rage.

"Thank you," Manfred whispered. After a few moments, he sighed, and said, "I'm tempted to stick my oar in about the other thing. _However._ We both have duties to attend to. Think you can congratulate Efram yet?"

Wolfram made a sound like a whimpered groan. But he answered, "I will."

Father and son clasped hands and left, hoping something was resolved. But both remained deeply uneasy, nerves jagged with the adrenaline hangover coursing through their veins.

-oOo-

Efram sidled up to Greta in the ballroom, and whispered in dismay, "What's wrong with Sweet Diet?" By this point, Brendan was picking up the boy, Aldrich too weak to carry him.

"Oh, um... Where've you been? Manfred's looking for you." _Efram's too smart. I can't tell him part of it, or he'll figure out the rest._

"I was working in Annissina's lab, and Gwendal came in to chat. You know, he's better at empirical science than he lets on! Guess he'd have to be, friends with her all his life. But yeah, Annissina came in and said M'lord Cheech needed me urgently. Greta – why are people staring at me? And what's wrong with Dietrich?" Indeed, a number of Aristocrats were stealing concerned glances at Efram, then whispering with each other.

"Ah, um, maybe we should, um –"

"You know, Greta, you're developing Yuuri's verbal ticks," Efram teased, eyes dancing over a big grin. "Maybe it's a good thing you're marrying, get away from the contagion before you lose all intelligence."

Greta couldn't help laughing, and hit him.

Wolfram, having taken some time for a quick cry off by himself, arrived in the ballroom, and made a beeline toward them. He stopped in front of Efram – who watched this stiff performance with sense of humor fully engaged. Wolfram took a deep breath, and bowed deeply. "Please consider me at your service, my liege, Lord Efram," he formally greeted his younger brother.

"Greetings, lowly knave," quipped Efram in return. "You may rise."

Stiff as a poker, face burning in humiliation, Wolfram did rise, and stalked straight back out of the ballroom.

"Ah –" breathed Greta in dismay.

"Efram! There you are!" cried Manfred, returning to the ballroom from another door. "Where've you been?"

"Annissina's lab. I had this idea – look!" He proudly held out a chemistry project to show his father. "It's a portable acid-base test. You dip these strips of litmus paper into a soil and water solution, and match the color to this card, to tell how acid the soil is. I was thinking we could give these to people, then they don't have to spend days getting an answer from Aldrich's labs! Like with Brendan's problem in Gratz. I showed it to Gwendal. He thought it was a good idea."

Manfred took the litmus tester and studied it, giving it his full attention and appreciation. "It's a _brilliant_ idea, Efram. Well done! I wish..." He glanced to where Aldrich and Dietrich had not quite yet made it out of the ballroom, due to well-wishers bearing condolences. "This is a major contribution. We'll have to show it to... the Lord of Agriculture." _Whoever that is, tomorrow..._ "I wish today could be just about this, but... We need to talk, fire pixie, before you see Wolfram."

"Already came and left. The clod made fun of me. So I called him a _'lowly knave', _heh. What's _his_ problem?"

Manfred stared at Efram blankly. Greta interjected, "Um, Lord Manfred, Wolfram offered his allegiance, and Efram misunderstood, and um..."

Manfred winced understanding, and took Efram's elbow to draw him away. "Pixie, we need to talk..."

-oOo-

"Greta, beautiful ceremony," said Murata Ken, catching her in the ballroom between other conversations. As always more solemn than Yuuri, now at age twenty-six he looked far more mature than his friend. He wore his wavy hair shorter these days, probably to keep it off his forehead, in deference to the custom in Trondheim, where he still chose to live. "I'm told you were involved in staging that ritual. You remember my daughter, Lucy? Though Lucy, you probably don't recall Greta?"

The young centaur was only four years old. But as with all the miraculous tree-born of Yuuri and Wolfram's eventful _'honeymoon'_ – family vacation – in Trondheim a few years ago, she'd matured on overdrive. The theory held that these restored members of the vanishing races were rapidly growing to the point where they could resume their lives where they left off, four thousand years ago, when Shinou's accidental _'Genocide'_ magic entrapped their souls. Greta wasn't sure how centaurs were supposed to age normally, but by human standards, Lucy seemed to be equivalent to a human girl of around 12. At any rate, her breasts and black armpit hair were beginning to develop. Which was entirely too obvious, since the girl-horse wore no clothing save the lustrous chestnut coat on the horse part. Tail and short curly head hair were black with chestnut highlights. Overall, Greta found her fur a very handsome ensemble, but a shirt or sweater was definitely in order.

Lucy nodded. "I know Greta," she claimed, with peculiar confidence.

Murata smiled and nodded proudly at his daughter. Her head was higher his own, her withers somewhat above his waist. Greta couldn't help estimating her as a grown centaur. If her horse-part grew into a full-sized riding horse, and the person-part also adult-sized, the – woman? centauress?_ –_ might reach eight feet tall. Despite the fact that a centaur was just too cool, for the first time Greta began to harbor a nagging sympathy for Giesela's reaction to Murata's unilateral cross-racial adoption. _This really is weird._

But she smiled at the centaur. "You've grown so much, Lucy! Did you help with the translation of that ancient centaur song for Alana?"

Lucy inclined her head vaguely, as though accepting her royal due.

Liesel had hoped all evening for an opening with the pretty horse. Robichaud's daughter joined Greta and looked up, eyes begging for an introduction. "Ah, Murata-san, Lucy, please allow me to present Princess Liesel of Adreshulde, who's staying with me for a month. Liesel, Murata-san is one of my father's closest friends, from his homeland. Lucy is his daughter."

Liesel boggled. "Was your mother a horse?"

Lucy seemed to consider a reply beneath her. But Murata chuckled good-naturedly. "Lucy is my _adopted_ daughter. Both her natural parents were centaurs, as she is. Honored to meet you, Your Highness Princess Liesel." He bowed and kissed Liesel's hand gallantly. Naturally, Liesel drew back, tickled pink and bashful. "I hear your father the King is courting our lovely Princess Greta." Murata's index finger pushed his glasses up his nose, in a manner Greta associated with Uncle Ken at his most calculating. "I, too, seek the lovely Greta's favor."

_No, you don't, Uncle Ken. We are __**not**__ having this conversation through the girls,_ Greta firmly decided. "Liesel, Lucy – Trenton von Gratz looks at loose ends over there. Perhaps you two could keep him company, and leave us grown-ups to talk," Greta suggested firmly.

"Trenton doesn't like girls," Liesel quibbled.

"But we'll go anyway," said Lucy, inclining her head to Greta haughtily. She clattered off toward Trenton, shod hooves ringing damage to the fine parquet floor, leaving Liesel to follow or not. Greta watched them for a few moments, amused. Liesel naturally asked if she could ride Lucy. Lucy rolled her eyes and assured her that _no one_ rode a centaur. Trenton was willing to set his normal boy's misogyny aside, on the grounds that centaurs were cool. Greta expected he was due for a powerful kick soon, though, if he inspected Lucy's body even a little more closely.

"It's hard for her to fit in," Murata murmured. "She could use more feminine guidance."

Greta thought it unlikely that a female growing up in the household of Alana, Ilya, and Guya'k'vriel von Trondheim could possibly lack for a strong female role model. She pursed her lips and shot Murata a _look._ "I have a nice beige sweater I could lend her," she suggested pointedly.

"Oh! That's a good idea," Murata said, in exaggerated appreciation of her wisdom.

Greta frowned at him again. It was an _obvious _suggestion. And she suddenly suspected he'd maneuvered her into shooing off the girls, as well. She had a sudden vivid image of telling a haughty adolescent that she _must _wear a bra and top in public, regardless of her _'centaur dignity'._ Quickly followed by another image of her foster sister Frieda von Gratz in 20 years, demanding breast emancipation, and claiming the centaur Lucy as precedent. Her face scrunched a bit with the effort to suppress rolling her eyes. With sudden sympathy, she also envisaged a young Manfred – _Wolfram's age then –_ trying to tell a surly adolescent Gwendal anything at all. _And when did I join the women's conformance enforcement agency, anyway?_ she thought unhappily. _Screw it – the girl should put a shirt on!_

"As I said in my letter, proposing marriage," Murata continued, "I'm reaching my limits as a single father."

"Uncle Ken..." she said quellingly.

He shrugged with a smile, easily letting go that failed gambit. "But Greta," he tried a new tack, forefinger adjusting glasses again, "I've always felt you shared my fascination with the revival of the vanishing races. Of all the momentous events since Yuuri and I came here, _this_ is the most important, to me. And to you, too, I think?"

She reluctantly admitted, "Yes... It is wonderful to see her, practically growing before our eyes. Is that what keeps you busy, these days? Meeting the needs of the new full-blood ogres and trolls and fauns, and everyone?"

Murata shrugged modestly. "I help out where I can, of course. More as a parent than as a vocation. I'm still busy with Ilya, steering the new Yuuri cult, to reconcile Trondheim and Shin Makoku. I've always worked in the background, before, on more secret workings. But these past few years, for the first time I've come to appreciate the mechanics of religion and community spirituality. Such as your highly effective ritual this evening, Greta."

Greta finally identified why Murata's compliments annoyed her. _He's trying to manipulate me. That's... obnoxious, really._ She'd always rather suspected her father Wolfram didn't like Murata. It suddenly dawned on her. _No. Wolfram probably detests Murata._ "It was very _moving_," she replied, suggesting an attitude correction from his _good-technique-for-manipulating-people_ outlook.

"Mm," Murata agreed. "Yes, I'm learning to appreciate that. _'Emotionally moving'._"

_Like emotion is a radically new concept._ "I did, um, read your proposal with great interest," Greta said. _Gah, it's contagious – I'm giving an intellectual reaction to a __**marriage proposal.**_"I _felt_ drawn to your quest to restore the ancient races to their former glory. And to build true love and trust between Trondheim and Shin Makoku. Um, by worshipping Yuuri is a little... awkward. He _is_ my father, after all. Sort of."

Murata grinned at that, with a throwaway shrug. He didn't have the slightest problem using his best friend as a god to accomplish something. He'd done it before, after all, with Shinou. Nor did he attach any particular significance to Yuuri as Greta's _'father'._ If Yuuri didn't mind, why should he?

"So," Greta redirected, "this the first time Lucy and Giesela have met, isn't it? How's that going?"

"Oh, well, we haven't really talked yet. That's... As I said in my proposal, our marriage is really over. Mostly, we're waiting until Günter is ready to accept a divorce. Which he surely _would_ do, for your and Yuuri's sake. But there's no rush, until the marriage is an impediment to Giesela or I moving on. Even if Giesela's only adopted – as are you – Günter _is_ highest Aristocracy, and, well. Protocol officer, after all. We're kind of... desperately seeking propriety." He shrugged.

"You two seemed so happy at first," Greta probed.

"While I was at Tokyo University, certainly," agreed Murata. "All a great adventure, then, for her. I think she really enjoyed working in the cosplay shop in Harajuku, and traveling all over Earth on vacation. Real eye-opener."

"And you?"

"Huh? Oh, she was good company. That what you meant? It was, um, easier, surrounded by _my _society, where she was the one who had to fit in. I've never had to do that here."

_You've never been willing to do that here. _"It must seem a little unfair," Greta suggested mildly.

Murata frowned, puzzled. "I'm not sure _'fair' _ has anything to do with it."

'_Fair' has everything to do with it, Uncle Ken. Your marriage is unfair to her._ _She turned herself inside out to fit your life there, and now that you're back here, you refuse to budge an inch to fit yourself to her societal needs. You humiliate her in the eyes of her father and Krist, and don't give a damn!_

"Well," Greta murmured, "I hope you two find time to talk while you're here. About your proposal... I'm afraid Chichiue Wolfram was dragged off to Bielenfeld almost as soon as we got them, so... I haven't gotten very far with that. The disaster up north takes precedence, of course."

"Of course," Murata agreed. He took the hint that this conversation was closing. "I hope I'm still under consideration. I remain most _sincerely_ interested. I think a partnership between us could be very effective, in achieving our goals. And – give you a chance to remain in Shin Makoku. Yet married to someone who will age at the same pace as you." A neat elevator pitch summary of his proposal's _'pros'._

Greta smiled in nonspecific agreement, and fled.

-oOo-

Yuuri, affably mingling his way through the ballroom, caught Greta's attention. _Yuuri doesn't 'detest' Uncle Ken,_ she considered. It escaped her notice for the moment that Yuuri didn't _'detest'_ anyone. _And my first reaction to Robichaud was 'hell, no!' too... Marrying Murata really would have advantages. And I did promise to consider everyone carefully. And... I really do care about the centaurs and fauns and..._ She joined Yuuri as his purely social exchange with Annissina's brother broke up.

"Yuuri... What do you think of Uncle Ken?"

Yuuri automatically launched into an affable jibe at his friend's expense, "Oh, he's a – Oh, ah, you mean, as a potential husband?" Yuuri shrugged on a more sober demeanor and considered this. "Ah... Well. In Japan, he's top of the heap, Todai – um, Tokyo University – and all."

Greta nodded. "You went to school together. So if you'd stayed in Japan, you'd have been _'toady'_ too?"

Yuuri laughed, and corrected this, in a low-voiced rush, "_To-dai_, not _'toady'. _Actually, Murata and I went to middle school together. I wasn't a good enough student to go to his high school, let alone Todai." _Which is neither here nor there. _"Um, Japan... Huh. I guess... You have to realize, my parents are kind of unusual, for a _successful_ Japanese couple. They're really, _affectionate_. Murata, he's... more competitive." Thinking about his parents, Yuuri unconsciously scratched his head exactly the same way Grandfather Shouma did. "The ideal for someone like Murata is more like..." Yuuri frowned and surveyed the room. "Gwendal, and Annissina, maybe. Pretty independent lives. Though, a successful Japanese wife would stay home. Raise the kids, make them succeed in school, cook and stuff. And the man, work in business or in government, and not really come home much. Home is the wife's domain. They don't... spend much time together, really. Murata used to be more relaxed, but... Attending Todai, he got pretty... Todai expectations, I guess."

Greta's expression developed a certain suck-a-lemon quality. "But, Yuuri, you're not anything like that!"

"Oh, me! Well, no. No, I'm not that caliber of guy. I'm more... affectionate. Not really... competitive. I'd... kinda be a loser by Japanese standards, really." He gave Greta a rueful, apologetic look.

"And Grandfather Shouma?" Greta was trying to puzzle this out. "He's a... loser? By Japanese standards?"

"Oh, no! My father's, um, fine. He's successful. He worked internationally, though. In Japan, he... fit in OK. He kinda fits in anywhere. Kind of a chameleon that way. My mother... she fit in better overseas with his work crowd. But you know Mama, she gets along with everyone... fine. They're not really, um, competitive."

"When you say _'competitive'_, Yuuri – what are they competing _for?_"

"Oh, um, being... the _'best'_ I guess. At conforming to an ideal of _'good Japanese'_. For status, maybe? Money and status _stuff_ certainly. Like a fine house, kids who do the best in school, promotions and recognition at work. I guess... _'honor'_ is the closest here, but people think more in terms of _demonstrating_ honor here, not really... _competing_ for honor." Yuuri shrugged ruefully. "I'm not really making much sense, am I?"

Greta tried another tack. "Would you... _recommend_... that I marry Uncle Ken?"

"Ah..." Yuuri scratched his head some more. "Well, if you love him... Do you?"

Greta couldn't imagine how his previous comments boiled down to _'sure, marry him if you love him'._ They sounded more like a ringing condemnation of the match, to her. "Um, I don't think so."

Relieved, Yuuri smiled and nodded his head. "Then, no, of course not."

"But if I did love him? Or thought I might?"

"Um," Yuuri looked more uncomfortable at that. "Well, yeah, sure. Ah, Greta – I really don't know how to answer that. I'm sorry. If what you want is like what Wolfram and I have – on the good days anyway – then, I don't think you'll find it with Murata. If what you want is more like what Gwendal and Annissina have, then, yeah. Sure." He looked around sadly. Annissina and Gwendal were stately, working the room side by side. Wolfram was nowhere in sight, and had barely given Yuuri the time of day yet.

Greta found this more intriguing than Murata. "What do you see in Gwendal and Annissina's marriage?"

Yuuri looked surprised. "Um, they're great together? They... make a good team. They respect each other, they both pursue their careers, their Aristocratic duty, they cooperate raising Grendel. They have a very... rational marriage." Yuuri and Greta stared at each other. "Um, it's not the kind of marriage _I'd_ like," he allowed. "But I'm more... affectionate. Like my parents." At times like these, even after over a decade in Shin Makoku, Yuuri felt himself sliding back over the line. _I'm still gaijin here. Incurably foreign..._

But after a moment's reflection, Greta laughed softly. "Thanks, Yuuri. That helps." _I'm more affectionate. Like my parents._ She gave him a big hug and a kiss.

Yuuri smiled in relief. _I can't imagine how it helped, but okay..._

-oOo-

Wolfram took refuge in putting the children to bed. His children. Whom his life had revolved around, as little as a week ago. _Lord Mommy, royal consort to the Wimp Maou. _"Yes, yes, I missed you all!" he repeated over and over, amidst flying pillows and billowing flannel nighties, possibly trying to convince himself. _That's unfair. I wanted them. This is the life I chose. _"No, Bertram, no story tonight – it's late!" _I never wanted Bielenfeld until Chichiue gave it to Efram. _"Yes, Frieda, just for tonight, you and Liesel may share a bed. May I kiss you goodnight, too, Liesel?"

_No, that isn't true. I never wanted Bielenfeld before, because I hadn't seen it hurt like this before. Even leaving for a couple days to come here... it was hard to leave them. They need me. My people. I matter. What I do as Lord of Public Health and Welfare, in this crisis – Young Healer Ichs – a full-fledged Lord von Bielenfeld – I matter. And they matter, to me. I finally belong there, in Bielenfeld. I always wanted that. Wanted to belong, in Bielenfeld..._

"Aha! There you are!" said Yuuri, joining them in the nursery. He put a light arm around Wolfram, but when his husband stiffened in response, Yuuri let it go with a light peck on his cheek. He pounced on Ekaterin instead for a good-night kiss. "Isn't it nice to have Chichiue Wolfram back, children? Yes, we missed him!"

Yuuri had done a magnificent job being the one full-time parent, with zero advance notice. It was obvious to him at a glance, though, that Wolfram was too distracted to appreciate him for that. _That's alright. I know I did good. Manfred even thanked me for taking care of Avram. _The baby was sound asleep in his crib, the valet Thomas having tactfully pried him out of Manfred's arms. _It would be nice if Wolfram acknowledged me for being a good husband sometimes. But like Mama says, seek to understand, not to be understood..._

Kisses bestowed all around, and children having semi-sincerely promised to settle down and sleep, Wolfram followed Yuuri into their bedroom on automatic. Yuuri, bereft of his husband for a week, was eager to disrobe and get to bed. Sure, sex ten times a week was a... grind. But _none..._ that was a hardship. Usually, when Wolfram came home from his little Public Health and Welfare jaunts, they disappeared into the bedroom for a solid twelve hours at least, and Yuuri'd expected the same this time.

But Wolfram sat ramrod straight in a hard chair, legs crossed, and picked at the crease in his impeccable gold-piped Bielenfeld blue pants. Unlike the rest of the von Bielenfelds – who no longer owned a single suit not imbued with ash – he'd had a fresh change of clothes before the ceremony.

Yuuri let him be, while he changed into the silver-chased black yukata Wolfram had given him for their honeymoon. Then he sat on the bed, as close as he could to Wolfram's straight-backed chair. Which was still well out of arm's reach. He thoughtfully opened with, "You looked so alive and involved and happy when you arrived a few hours ago...?" _So what changed?_

Wolfram nodded a little, distracted.

Yuuri was too inherently reasonable and kind, to guess that Wolfram was still reeling from losing part of his inheritance to his little brothers. At a loss, he launched into, "Well, it's been fun having Liesel here. She's really hit it off with Ekaterin. You should see them hold a tea party together for their dolls, it's just too adorable. This morning, they pretended to be queens discussing whom their beautiful young princesses would marry. Then of course, Frieda tried to join in, saying her stuffed sandbear had eaten one of the grooms –"

"Yuuri," Wolfram interrupted, husky voice low and flat. "You're babbling."

"Ah, sorry. ...I missed you. Not – aha! – just taking care of the kids. Your political advice, with King Robichaud here, and... You. Having you here, with me, at night..." He trailed off, since nothing seemed to catch Wolfram's attention. "How was it, in Bielenfeld? Really?"

"It's bad." Yet in saying so, Wolfram roused back to life. "So far, praise Shinou, we've managed to avert any epidemics in Castletown, tricky with the population quadrupled, refugees living in the streets. The mood was dangerous for a while, but we've got everyone organized into work gangs, now, and – Well. I'll report in detail at the meeting tomorrow."

"And you?" Yuuri leaned forward, arms on thighs, hands clasped before him in earnest, looking warmly into Wolfram's eyes. "You were coughing a lot earlier. And I hear you've been working as a healer every night, to maryoku exhaustion. I've been worried –"

The warmth and concern in Yuuri's eyes made Wolfram too uncomfortable to remain seated. He jumped up and started pacing. "Yes, yes, we all have, I'm fine. Chichiue and Dietrich should heal less, they're overdoing. Aldrich should be in bed, by rights, but now I imagine we'll plan the relief of Wincott in earnest tomorrow."

"Wolfram..." Yuuri murmured to his husband's frenetic pacing. "Come to bed, love. You're home. Come rest for a night."

Wolfram stopped in his tracks. _You. I gave up Bielenfeld, I chose this life, for you. That's not true, I... I don't want to think about this anymore. Don't think. Just do._

"No, Yuuri, I... haven't spoken with Aunt Sophie about my top issues yet. I still need to wheedle those medical supplies out of René von Dubois. I really need to get more work done before tomorrow's meetings. Sorry, this really is a whirlwind visit." He ducked down to give Yuuri the briefest of pecks on the cheek, then strode for the door.

"Welcome home," Yuuri murmured again, as the door closed behind him.

_I guess this is called 'drifting apart', _he thought, not entirely convinced. But his natural optimism added, _He's busy, and doing his best, and feeling important. He loves that. By the time the crisis winds down, he'll get bored – hah! He always complains how boring it is in Bielenfeld! He'll be more than ready to come home, then. Yeah. I'm happy for him, that he's busy and stretching his wings a bit. Good for him! And I'm stretching my wings, too, with my parenting skills. Good for me! We'll be fine._

Of course, a little conjugal sex would have been nice, too. _Maybe in the morning._

-oOo-

Headed for bed, Greta almost turned a corner to run into Murata and Lucy again, this time with Giesela. She reversed quick, and fled into a servants' stairwell. Leaning her head on the closed stairway door, she heaved a sigh of relief and waited for her pounding heart to slow. _It's not that I'm avoiding them. It's just... too much for one day._ And indeed, her emotions were full and jangling.

"Hi, Greta," a voice came from behind her. She whirled guiltily to face Efram, standing on the last two steps up. He flashed her a fleeting smile, then his face settled back into a sad unease.

For a moment, Greta felt like the entire universe was letting her down, when even the effervescent Efram could be sad. Then she recalled who the grownup was here. Yes, time was, she was the little niece to Efram's worldly young unclehood. Time was, time past. She summoned a brave smile, and inclined her head in salute. "Congratulations on becoming the Heir to Bielenfeld, Lord Efram. Sorry I wasn't very honest earlier. But, people had gone to a lot of trouble to make sure Lord Manfred could tell you himself, instead of you overhearing gossip."

"Yeah," said Efram, nodding. "Guess I owe the vixen an apology... Not exactly a happy riot occasion for celebration." He rallied a little humor to add, "A congratulatory kiss from a pretty princess would help?"

She laughed, and stepped up before him on the staircase. Since he stood above her on the stairs, she had to reach up to place her hands on his shoulders, and give him a smiling peck on the cheek. "Congratulations. Wolfram will come around."

Efram wasn't listening. He put his arms around her to draw her back again, and drew her to him for a real kiss on the lips.

_Sweet, friendly, kind, caring, innocent, a kiss of equals... _Their mouths drew apart and they stared into each other's eyes, huge brilliant emerald meeting liquid brown. _This feels so different from the electric shock of touching King Robichaud, a powerful man. He was exhiliarating and exciting. But this is so good, too. _Greta gulped.

The door opened behind them, and Efram and Greta flew apart. "Oh, hell, I never get away with anything," complained Efram.

"Time for bed, fire pixie," commented Manfred blandly, for it was he. "You sit beside me in Aristocrat's council tomorrow." At Efram's look of panic, he added, "There's nothing to _prepare_. All you need is the courage to face whatever comes, and listen to others. You have the skills and talent. Just get some sleep, eh?" Manfred squeezed the boy's shoulder encouragingly on his way past, ducking out the stairwell door.

Before Greta could make good her escape, Manfred invited, "Share a glass of wine with me, Princess." And indeed, he carried an elegant little tray with snowy linen towel wrapped around a bottle of MvB's best vintage, with two clean goblets. "Aldrich's – _my_ – valet Thomas, left this for me at my door. I took the hint," he offered in explanation. Without waiting for an answer, he sat on the stairs and uncorked the bottle, to pour two glasses.

"A toast, to innocence and puppy love," he offered, eyes meeting hers directly. Greta nodded and blushed. "Once is sweet, Greta. An innocent memorial to times gone by. Twice – that would be playing with fire. Rather literally. I realize most assume it's the _boy's_ fault. But I'm not that sexist, and you're the responsible adult. And if you think _I'm_ unchivalrous, be _very _sure _Aldrich _never catches you. Whacking his mother this afternoon was uncharacteristic for lack of self-control, not sentiment."

"It won't happen again," she agreed.

"So – how are you doing with the _real_ marriage candidates?" Manfred asked, eyebrow cocked. "Having _the_ Robichaud of Adreshulde appear on my doorstep was impressive as hell. Has he actually offered marriage?"

"Well, no... not yet. Wait, you knew him?"

"Knew _of_ him, certainly. Fate does funny things sometimes. You know, if your ball had gone off without a hitch, you may have had twenty human suitors. Seeing Robichaud alone, instead, do you realise that he _still_ would have stood head and shoulders above the rest, no contest? Robichaud is a _great_ man. Probably the greatest human ruler of his era. And Adreshulde, one of the greatest nations. _However. _You wouldn't have stood a chance with him. Shin Makoku's too awkward, few advantages, kind of a problem, too distant, for him to ally with. He'd have greeted you politely, and left it at that."

"He said as much," Greta admitted. "Well, that he wasn't really considering me, when he came. But, he said, maybe, when he comes back..."

"And you?"

"I... If he'd asked me right then, before he left, I would've said yes right away! But – he said that's part of why he wasn't asking. He said he'd decide, before he came back. And asked me to promise, to be ready to decide by then. Manfred... thinking about this, I looked around me at all the marriages I know well, and decided yours, yours and Aldrich's, was the best marriage, the kind I'd like to have! What do you think I should do? What makes a truly happy marriage?"

Manfred smiled at her, touched. "I think that's about the nicest compliment I've ever received. Thank you, Greta. Who'd'a thunk it, eh? I've always been such an overachieving loser in the marriage game, _four_ illegitimate children before my first wedding. And Aldrich, with Glynda... That was too painful to watch. _But! _We had a few good years, huh? Hopefully... not over... As for what you should do, phew. That's more Aldrich's department, well, on a good week, at least. But, well, what are the criteria? And who are the other candidates?"

"Uncle – I mean, Murata Ken, Conrad Lord Weller, and Lord Adelbert von Gratz." Their proper names – as opposed to _'Uncle'_ and _'Chichibert'_ – still felt awkward on her tongue. "They all still feel like uncles, not romantic prospects. And the criteria... What should the criteria be? Yuuri wants me to marry someone I'm in love with. Wolfram, too, though he wants me to fall in love with a human who'll bring a proper alliance." She laughed. "Um, I think Yuuri was a lot happier about the Shin Makoku candidates."

"I'm sure," agreed Manfred. "Well, what do you want?"

Greta sighed. "I don't know what I want. I thought I did. But since the volcano... It's going to be very hard to leave here. Shin Makoku is my home. This ceremony tonight... The way women _matter_ here. But... I'm not a demon."

"No, you're not. Nor ever will be. Greta, I won't pretend otherwise – I don't approve of marriage between human and demon. I know, in adolescence, it can seem romantic and heroic, to love across the divide, and rail against an unjust universe. But – some things just _are_, and rant and rail all you want, you cannot change them. It's a cruel thing, to love someone, who'll turn old and die before your eyes, while you remain young and strong. I wouldn't wish that on any demon I loved. And you're a loving person yourself, Greta. You would not be happy, putting your beloved in that position."

"You still feel that way? Even about Yuuri and Wolfram?"

"Yes. It's not bad yet, of course. But, they're already reaching the end of the best years, where they overlap in their aging trajectories. Already, Yuuri is a grown man, assured and kingly. Well, in his own inimitable way – as kingly and mature as he's likely to get, anyway." They both chuckled, Greta guiltily. "And Wolfram – don't get me wrong, I approve whole-heartedly of my son. He's a good youth, honorable and responsible, _for his age._ But he still has a bit of growing up to do. He's still casting around, discovering who he is. A bit like you, eh?"

Greta sighed. "Yeah. The marriage thing... that really is deciding who I am, isn't it. Who I choose to be. Where I choose to be. Well, I guess you'd rule out Adelbert at least, then." Adelbert was Manfred's closest friend. They were cross-fostered from birth, just like Trenton and Dietrich, closer than brothers. Both very strong-minded men, though, so of course they'd had their ups and downs over the years.

"Yes, please. Oh, I don't think he'd leave you as you grew old or anything. No, Bert would stand by you to the bitter end, honor-bound and idealistic. Just like Aldrich, with Glynda. That's probably why the two of them get along so badly, Bert and Aldrich. They're too damned much alike. _However!_ Can I get a little catty for a minute? Even if you're not seriously considering Bert, could you please tell _Giesela_ that you _are_? I would _love _ to watch that play out!"

"What?" Greta couldn't resist, and leaned in for the juice.

"You haven't seen it? Oh, Giesela's _seriously_ got the hots for Bert! But it's an impasse. Idealistic Bert, he'd _never_ consider a married woman. And besides, ironically, Giesela's father _Günter_ considers Adelbert _hopelessly_ and forever dishonored, a traitor to Shin Makoku. Can't say I blame him – for a long time, I felt the same way. But I finally realised Adelbert was damned if he did and damned if he didn't. His honor was broken if he continued war against humans as General of Shin Makoku. His honor was broken if he walked away, a traitor. He decided that what Suzanna Julia would have wanted, for him to pursue peace with the humans, so he resolved it that way. He was right, as it turns out, if we take Yuuri's choices as reflecting Suji's. Anyway, _I_ see that now, and made my peace with Bert. But Günter hasn't. So here we have this frozen tableau, it's like everybody's impaled on their separate pointy little sticks of idealism and honor – an impasse. The Great Sage Murata Ken is a real coup of a son-in-law for Günter, except he's an intellectual cold fish who's making his daughter miserable. Adelbert and Giesela would be perfect for each other, but Bert won't make a move, and drill sergeant Giesela's pining for _him_ to woo _her_. The situation _desperately_ cries out for someone to break the logjam." Manfred shot Greta a green-eyed demon challenge.

"Alright, I'll do it," agreed Greta. "I gather you don't think much of Uncle Ken as a candidate, either."

"Murata? Nah. Way too intellectual. You're warm and loving. Like Giesela, within five years he'd turn you into a complete and utter shrew."

Greta stifled a giggle. "Giesela's not really a shrew..."

"Neither are you. But you _would _be, trying to meet _him_ on anything but intellectual ground. And he won't change. Two '_shrews_' behind him, he'd just shrug and look for another _'fun'_ girl, without a moment's qualm. Granted, the centaur daughter and life in Trondheim could be _interesting._ But Greta – no question, you're a lot more _rational _ than your parents. Even so, you _don't _ want to marry for _intellectual stimulation._ Do you."

Greta laughed. "Believe it or not, that comes close to Yuuri's advice. Yeah. I think I got that, talking to Uncle Ken, too. He'd be... really annoying. Of course, _Robichaud_ was irritating, too. It was like he kept disapproving of me."

"How so?"

"He... Well, I guess he kept _challenging_ me. To be more royal, to stand up for myself, to apologize with dignity. You know, about the most impressed I think I ever got him, was when Yuuri told him I came here to _assassinate _him!"

Manfred whistled. "Sounds to me like you knocked him off his feet. Quite against his will. Considering his first wife, I can well imagine he'd be entranced by a young girl brave enough to attempt an assassination. Then smart enough to switch sides! And his challenges? Did you rise to the bait?"

Greta grimaced, still a little mad. "Yeah! I took on more _royal_ duties, became Cecilie's right hand as Lady Marshall of the Center. Oh. I see what you mean. He was just goading me to step up and be more."

"Bring out your inner tough little assassin and princess, yeah. And it worked, too. Yeah, I don't think Robichaud could stomach a meek little frill. His idea of a good Queen would involve someone tough enough, if he faltered, to take up a sword and defend his land and next generation with teeth and claws bared. Pretty manners wouldn't count for much, with him. _So._ Have you decided?"

Greta blushed. "I promised I'd consider all the others, and be ready to decide before he came back. I still don't know if he wants me, Manfred," she pined.

"Irrelevant. Or rather, counter-productive. Greta, you're not an objective observer, here, waiting on a roll of the dice, or a change in the weather. Part of whether _he_ wants _you,_ is how much _you_ want _him._ Take a stand, girlfriend! If you want him, you'd better go for him!"

Seeing Greta still waffle, Manfred backed off. "Who else... Conrad. Well, he's older and a half-demon. He'd still outlive you, but only by a couple decades. And only if he died in bed – always iffy, for a swordsman. He's local, so you don't have to leave. Your values are compatible." He eyed her through the ruby wine in his goblet. "How do you feel about getting physical with Conrad?"

She jumped at that. "Um. He feels like my _Uncle._ That's... with all three of them..."

Manfred shrugged. "That's normal, for Aristocrats. We inbreed all the time, to preserve our top maryoku talents. Look at me – six kids by five different _'mothers'_, each a cousin or better. Aldrich's my first cousin and great-uncle, possibly related a couple other ways as well. Emotionally..." He shrugged again. "People change. Relationships change, as you get older. At age 10, a 15 year old is ancient. By age 25, five years' age difference is nothing. With Conrad – think you could get over it and get sweaty?" They were on their second glasses of wine, now. Manfred's renewed green-eyed leer of challenge through the wineglass was growing silly, and Greta's mood to match.

"I keep trying to imagine it," she confessed. "But then... I've never _seen_ him go after a woman. In his marriage proposal, he said he'd set aside all others. But Yozak... You know?"

"I do. In fact. Know," agreed Manfred, with a crooked smile. "_Some_ closest dearest friends do fall into bed, and then manage to fall out again, and stay out." At Greta's raised eyebrows, he hastily clarified, "_No._ Not me and Bert! He and Ted are so straight it's pitiful. I was thinking of Aldrich and..." He laughed. "Well, Aldrich and any male friend before me, almost. Oh, yes! Aldrich in his younger day... All-time record for consecutive Castletown bar _'Hunkalicious'_ titles, not at _all_ like the demure _'Bielenfeld Beautiful Boy'_ contests. _Anyway._ I think I'll take a page from Robichaud's book and challenge you. To look Conrad in the eye and ask him... something. _What,_ I leave to your invention. But he and Yozak... They strike me as the kind of friends who never stop falling into bed again. Oh, they may never stop looking for someone else, someone willing to commit. But they'll keep falling back on the same old consolation, I think. _However._ You may be OK with that. Are you?"

Greta pursed her lips, then shook her head. "No."

"Didn't think so. Hmm. Well, due diligence and all, you should talk to Conrad. Adelbert if you must. But I guess we're back to Robichaud." He studied her through his wine again. "Let's put it this way. _Why not?"_

Greta hung her head and studied her wine. Eventually she whispered, "He scares me, a little. He's so..."

"He's a great man," Manfred reiterated. "I can relate. Yuuri's a great man. I'm biased, but I think Aldrich's a great man. I wouldn't blame you a bit for being intimidated. It's not easy, loving a great man."

"Maybe that's it." Greta remembered Efram's sweet kiss, the feeling of being... _equals._ But she didn't dare refer to that again, with Manfred. "That and... leaving Shin Makoku. Everything is so... I'm needed, here. I feel like everything here is falling apart, and I'd be leaving you in the lurch."

At that, Manfred shook his head, _No._ "Greta... You'd be just as needed, or more, in Adreshulde, or wherever you go. That's a reflection on your own capabilities. Don't worry about us. Or rather, help us in the way that you're uniquely qualified to help us. As a human in power, who sees Mazoku as people, too. Different, but in a way to be appreciated, not feared. You're not from here, darling. You're from out there. We've been blessed to have you, on loan, from the human world. Sheltered you, while you grew up. Those are ties of love and friendship, not chains. And the current situation? Well, we don't let the weather dictate our lives, not we who rule. Regardless of what fate throws at us, we choose, we decide, we lead. _Thank you._ I'm glad we talked. This helped me. I've been feeling a might put-upon, with what the world's throwing at me. But that's not my road. Thank you for helping me to remember that."

He poured the last of the wine. "What shall we toast?"

Greta thought about it, returning Manfred's regard through the ruby wineglass. "To the best marriages I've ever known. Yours – and mine."

"Ah, now _there's _the brave spirit of our assassin-turned-princess! Amen, Greta!"

-oOo-

_Happy Thanksgiving, to my fellow USAmericans!_

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews energize me to write again._


	6. Wings over Wincott

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Giesela and Adelbert, the relief of Wincott, a promotion for Wolfram.

_AN: _Chapter dedicated to HARPGO and pandawolf again – HARPGO for the Lucy's-shirt problem, and panda for championing love scenes.

There's a map of the domains of Shin Makoku on my illustrations page. Relevant to this chapter, Wincott is north of Bielenfeld. The great Donza River that bisects Shin Makoku, bends east into Wincott. A remote tail of Gratz wraps north between eastern Bielenfeld and northern Trondheim, to share a short border with Wincott. This is the Gratz "back forty" – a US farm idom suggesting a remote, less useful, neglected piece of land. The anime episode where Günter travels the edges of Shin Makoku, into independent rustic towns like something out of the US Old West, could well have been in the Gratz back forty.

**Chapter 6 – Wings Over Wincott**

_May 22nd_

Given the way Wolfram tossed and turned all night, it's a wonder that Yuuri woke when his husband rose to escape. But he captured a satiny calf before Wolfram made it off the bed.

"Mm. Where ya going?" Yuuri inquired muzzily. Morning found its usual waking excitement upon him, no doubt especially aroused by Wolfram's familiar bed-flopping, after a week of lonely nocturnal peace.

"I, um, need to see... people before the, um," Wolfram prevaricated, face hiding behind a hand and his tousled blond mane. He tried to pull his leg out of Yuuri's grasp to continue rising.

The quality – or lack thereof – of this lie woke Yuuri further. He half-rose to grab Wolfram by the shoulders, then fell back onto the lumpy terrain of tangled bedding, dragging Wolfram atop him, clasped to his chest. "I don't think so," he whispered. "Wolframu..." Yuuri's sleep-slurred pronunciation was still Japanese-like, _Wuurufuruammu,_ after all these years. "You're only home for one night. I want to make love to you. And I want you to talk to me. Preferably in that order."

Trapped in Yuuri's arms, Wolfram lay still, caught just as thoroughly by his own ambivalence. The embrace was warm, Yuuri's body comforting. His body naturally warmed, knowing its own. But somewhere behind his navel, he still felt that clawing void, _something's been stolen from me. Because of you, I've lost my birthright._ That was unfair. Wolfram knew it was unfair. Unfortunately, his refusal to own up to how he felt, only fixed it like cement.

Yuuri frowned at Wolfram's non-response. He rolled Wolfram over to lie atop him – arching Wolfram backwards over a local pillow mountain – pinning Wolfram's lower torso and legs with the weight of his own. His fingers combed upward along the sensitive muscles of Wolfram's neck, his jaw, the erotically-charged ear, and captured the waves of blond away from Wolfram's face. He bent down to a deep, hard kiss. Wolfram kissed back, half-heartedly. Yuuri pulled back to meet his eye, gauging whether to pull back, or press on. Once upon a time, only Wolfram asserted his will in sex, but no more. Yuuri's legs, his gently grinding pelvis, his sensitive fingers, his will, continued to press on Wolfram. With a sigh, Wolfram closed his eyes in surrender and reached out with his mouth, to kiss Yuuri back in earnest.

Physically, the sex was good, Yuuri reflected afterward, as he held Wolfram. They were tense. They'd been under huge stresses, working in unaccustomed roles, unsure of themselves. They'd both needed release, and that they had. Physical intimacy didn't seem to have brought emotional intimacy along with it, though. Wolfram lay liquid in his arms. Yuuri's cheek adhered to his sweat-dampened forehead. No physical tension remained between them at all. Yet somehow emotionally, Yuuri still felt Wolfram was leagues away. He sighed deeply, and murmured, "Talk to me, love."

"About?"

Yuuri poked him in the ribs. "Good question. What's wrong?"

Wolfram shook his head in denial, and said nothing.

Yuuri frowned, and pressed his face harder onto Wolfram's, thinking. He'd learned a lot a few years back, when their relationship crazily blew up over the marriage ball of Wolfram's secret sister Kieran. _He wouldn't tell me what was wrong then, either._ But Friedrich, paterfamilias of the von Bielenfeld clan, had given Yuuri some advice he'd found invaluable ever since. Quit even trying to understand the words, which all amounted to silly spork tales anyway. Rather heed the emotional reaction instead.

Wolfram hadn't gotten much use out of this advice. _For such a passionate person, he's not very good at emotions. His ideal is to be so cool, so rational, so sophisticated, so honorable..._ Despite being naturally cooler, not prone to emotional tempests, or perhaps because of it, Yuuri was far better at emotional reasoning. Not the kind of emotional reasoning that says, _'I feel this, so it must be true!'_ - a logical fallacy Wolfram indulged all too often. Rather, Yuuri had an intuitive knack for the kind of emotional reasoning that understands that emotions have a rhyme and reason all their own. _He feels... I dunno. He feels something he cannot speak, cannot own to. Well, that could be anything. No, not quite anything. Something he's ashamed of. Still covers a lot of ground._

Yuuri elected a trial balloon, thinking it more or less at random. "How did that showdown go with your father last night?"

Wolfram stiffened like a poker, then gradually relaxed to half-tension. "I got chewed out," he admitted. "I was... Never mind, Yuuri. I was out of line. I just..." He shrugged unhappily.

_Did I just strike paydirt, or not? _"So you're OK with Efram inheriting Bielenfeld? And Avram the vineyards?"

_NO!_ screamed every muscle in Wolfram's body, spasming against Yuuri's own. "Yeah. It's fine, Yuuri. I should take a bath –"

Yuuri held him tighter. "Wolframu... It must hurt. It's... OK, that it hurts, you know? Do you need to... cry a little? You're... safe here with me. You're safe to feel anything, with me. I love you." And since Yuuri's patient arms refused to let him bounce up and run away, Wolfram ended up doing just that. He cried.

When Yuuri finally let him up to wash and get dressed, he still felt uneasy, though. And Wolfram still felt... _hollow._

-oOo-

Greta walked with her family down to the ballroom, set again as a buffet before the Aristocrats' main business meeting. They slowed when they entered, as Giesela's military bellow rang out.

"I didn't ask your _**opinion**_, you mangey pony! _**'Centaur dignity'**_**,** my ass! You want to stay indoors with _**people, **_you _**will**_wear this sweater. If you _**don't**_ keep a shirt on, you can damned well stay with the _**horses! **_Give me any more _**backtalk, **_and I'll ride you to the _**stables**_ myself, with bridle and _**spurs! GOT IT?"**_

Lucy had never been spoken to so harshly in her life. The girl dissolved into shrieking tears, and cantered over to hide behind her father. "_Dad-deeee!"_

_"Giesela!"_ objected Murata, stunned, ineffectually patting his howling daughter.

_"Giesela!"_ wailed Günter, one arm extended toward her in a melodramatic push-away motion, other hand hiding his face. He fell onto Gwendal in a near-swoon of mortification. But Giesela paid no attention to her poor father, the elegant court Protocol Officer.

Yuuri raised eyebrows high and bit his lip in amusement, as Giesela, fists on hips, unleashed a torrent of gutter Japanese on Murata. _"Nanka yoh?! Baka da! Neboken-ja nehyo! –"_

"What does that mean?" Greta whispered.

"Ah – _'You idiot!' _ Roughly," Yuuri supplied, grinning.

Wolfram awarded points for style and dignity in parenting. The Royal Consort stepped forth with arms crossed. He raised his voice precisely as far as needed to carry, and no farther. "Sergeant, this is an Aristocrats' breakfast, not a training field. And Lucy is a child, not a green boot. In _this_ venue, if a child's behavior needs correction, you take her aside _quietly_, with _decorum."_

"Wolfram von _fucking _Bielenfeld – !" Giesela reacted. In moments of stress, this liquid phrase had been escaping her ever since the pirate affair, the very _last_ time she'd been invited to be a member of the wedding party in any of Wolfram's wedding plans.

Wolfram haughtily raised chin and rolled his eyes – much the same way Lucy had when she set Giesela off, actually. "Barracks language in my ballroom again. Sergeant von Krist, I'm disappointed that we need to repeat this conversation. Perhaps _I _ need to take _you_ aside, to explain to you _yet again_ how to behave during a court social function." He raised an arm to point to the servants' staging room, affecting a withering _I-couldn't-be-more-bored _stance. "Murata, please escort Lucy as well." All three miscreants shuffled into the servant room, the Royal Consort herding from behind.

"Well, someone _did _ need to tell Lucy to put a shirt on," Greta defended Giesela.

"Mm-hm," Yuuri agreed neutrally. "Bet this'll cheer Wolfram up, too." Raising his voice to carry to his guests, he _set a positive tone for the meal, _calling out a cheerful, "Well, it's a lovely morning, everyone! Let's eat."

When Murata sheepishly escaped Wolfram's chewing-out room, he was accompanied by a subdued Lucy wearing summerweight sweater. Judging from the softened pitter-patter of hooves, Wolfram had managed to have her quickly un-shod as well, in defense of his gorgeous inlaid ballroom floor. Wolfram emerged long before Giesela, and mixed back into the breakfast crowd, attending to refugee welfare issues, as though nothing had happened. But his children automatically assumed Picture Perfect Child Poses, to avoid his wrath falling on them next.

Greta peeked into the servants' room. Dorcas helpfully kept count for Giesela, on her eightieth pushup. Greta grinned. No doubt Giesela herself, as a sergeant, had applied the same remedy a thousand times. _What to do with a trooper who can't keep her mouth shut – calisthenics til she drops._ When Wolfram and Adelbert had finally decided that Bertram and Frieda were spoiled – long overdue, in everyone else's opinion – the poor kids got very athletic. As per standard Shin Makoku military fitness drill.

Greta managed to catch Wolfram for just a moment, before they headed back into the council room. "Chichiue Wolfram? As the marriage broker, you tell suitors _'No',_ not me, right? I think for Uncle Ken – the answer is no."

Wolfram snorted. "I should certainly hope so!" He gave her a quick hug and kiss, and whispered in her ear, "Don't worry, honey. You can do _much_ better than _that."_ Yuuri was right – telling off Giesela and family had cheered him up. He winked at her and was off. Exit Royal Consort. Enter Lord of Public Health and Welfare.

_Too bad the Royal Consort was my marriage broker. _

-oOo-

The Aristocrat and Marshall summit had entirely too much business for a one day meeting. But Krispin Lord Krist was a far more aggressive leader of the Eleven than his two laissez-faire predecessors, Friedrich von Bielenfeld and his dear friend and nephew the late Elliot von Wincott. Krispin preferred an effective and coordinated domain rulership, at least in this time of crisis. Over breakfast, he consulted with Gwendal, Chancellor for Yuuri Maou, and Alana, leading the Marshalls, and hammered out an agenda of sorts. Those three powers agreed, Krispin opened the meeting by laying down the law.

"Firstly, the realm remains under Marshall Law, at least unto our next meeting, in four weeks' time." Krispin ignored an outbreak of outcries. "Secondly, the only business that shall be addressed today is crisis coordination. Note that does _not_ include finance, nor future planning." Outrage mounted as he emphasized, "Under Marshall Law, we do what must be done, and do not count the cost. Lastly, this meeting will close promptly at four this afternoon. We have little time, and we will waste none of it addressing those topics. Given those parameters, I open the floor."

Manfred, Brendan, Alana, Wolfram, Garena, and Aldrich stood. Upon seeing Aldrich rise, Brendan and Alana pormptly yielded. Manfred sank back to his seat more slowly, but signalled Wolfram to do the same.

"Lord Wincott," Krispin acknowledged. Garena sat sourly. "We had thought to save you for this afternoon, to give you time to prepare." After all, Aldrich had just become Lord Wincott last night. He'd spent what remained of last night in grief with his son, then been carried off to bed sick and exhausted himself, as all could see. _Surely he couldn't have... When could he have... In his sleep?_

"Thank you, but my proposal involves too many domains for that to be effective." Aldrich nudged Dietrich and Trenton into action. They spread maps on the table Wincott and Gratz shared today. These detailed maps, with multiple topic transparent overlays – currently unused – unfurled from elegant tooled leather tubes the boys carried in their oh-so-professional if child-size valises. Efram, wielding bare-graphite pencil and assignment notebook, from a worn canvas school satchel, looked on rather dejected.

Aldrich continued, "It's been a week since the eruption, and as yet, less than a tenth of Wincott's citizens are accounted for. The military relief efforts have stalled to the south."

Krispin blinked at Aldrich's use of _'to the south' _ to refer to _Bielenfeld and Gratz. _His longtime friend and ally had ruled both domains. He frowned in concentration as Aldrich continued, devoid of the political considerations and social graces he was renowned for. _Aldrich_ would have taken the time to appreciate what the military and Bielenfeld _had_ accomplished so far. One couldn't even say it was like a stranger speaking from Aldrich's body. Bent and gaunt, dressed in grey vest and pants over a voluminous poet blouse – for he had no Wincott grey coat, nor time to get one – blond and blue mane replaced by grey stubble, even Aldrich's body was a stranger's, his haggard face favoring cruel troll-elfin features, rather than the signature prettiness of the Lords von Bielenfeld. Only the towering intellect, and encyclopedic command of all the capabilities and peoples of Shin Makoku, betrayed the familiar Aldrich.

"I propose a new agenda," Aldrich continued coldly. "First, I want an aerial survey of all Wincott, from dragon back. We'll use that intelligence to fine-tune evacuation routes. But tentatively, _here,_" he jabbed at Trenton's map with a finger, "on the Gratz border, and _here,_ and _here,_ on the Bielenfeld border," he jabbed Dietrich's map, which was actually of Bielenfeld, "are the most likely viable evacuation routes. Unfortunately, most Wincotts would have headed _here,_" he jabbed at the ill-fated capital of Winvale, on the Donza. "I want to deploy field hospitals and evacuation forces at these four locations immediately. After we have an aerial survey, some will advance into the Wincott interior, others stay put to accept refugees, or fall back to reinforce other routes if their own proves to be an impasse. A second dragon flight will commence – possibly the same day – into Wincott to communicate the best evacuation routes to refugees.

"Erick. Garena. I need every dragon I can get." Startled by his abruptness – not even the civility of a title - they nodded.

"Sophie. Brendan. I need a warm welcome in the Gratz back forty. That's not the default. I believe Tam Tamerlane is the key. If Big Tam says accepting Wincott refugees is the thing to do, the locals will fall in line."

Sophie supplied, "Brendan's Uncle Gorham has been asking how he can help. I'll send him straightaway."

"Maybe Adelbert, too," her son Brendan suggested. Adelbert hadn't returned from accompanying Robichaud to Bielenfeld, instead pitching in with General Ted's military relief efforts. Sophie looked pleased, but with reservations, at Brendan allowing Adelbert back into Gratz in an official capacity.

"Good. Gwendal. Friedrich. Wolfram. Garena. I need every dragon _talker_ I can get as well, ones who can communicate with scared refugees on the ground."

"Done," they agreed, Friedrich with a searching gaze. His beloved only surviving son, Aldrich had never called him by his first name before.

"Manfred. Wolfram. Krispin. Alana. I want as many _healers_ as I can get on those evacuation routes. I'll want a _third_ dragon wave, airlifting military healers into trouble spots. Civilian healers to keep to the evac hospitals."

Once-General Gregor von Dienst half-rose timorously. "_Squire _von Dienst," Krispin acknowledged, but cast a baleful eye on Manfred.

Manfred rose. "Excuse me, Krispin. General von Trondheim wished to remain in Castletown – now I can see why. My Squire Gregor von Dienst agreed to represent him, as a military resource for this meeting." He sat.

Krispin nodded. "I see. Gregor?"

"I just wanted to ask, Lord Aldrich. Have you decided on a protocol, for dragon-back evacuation?" Von Dienst sat again promptly.

"Yes. I developed these plans with Gregor and Generals Teodor and Adelbert," Aldrich offered by way of explanation to the room. Many looked illuminated and relieved at this. Aldrich _hadn't_ just dreamed all this up last night. "First wave survey – no passengers out, no exceptions. We need information and we need it fast, to expedite getting everyone out who needs help. Second wave dispensing route information..." He paused. "No passengers. It's – pardon pun – a draconian rule, but with possibly thousands of civilian refugees, a dozen or so dragons, and a need for speed to give everyone their best chance – No. They need to keep moving, and take no passengers. Third wave, airlifting in military healers – one way trip. Healers remain on the ground with the refugees, and walk out. As for passengers out on the dragons on this wave... Well. There's no single third wave, it's more like ongoing waves after that, and we'll know better what we're dealing with. I'm going to say the protocol is no passengers for the entire operation, no favoritism, no selection. But I'll also say, _beginning in the third wave_, the ground commander of each evac route may revise to suit local conditions as he finds them. Satisfactory?"

Gregor sighed, but nodded – _good call._ It would be a horrible situation, picking and choosing, who to leave stranded without food or water or shelter, already ill, who to suddenly lift into the sky for salvation. Take this child? That injured mother of three? And leave another thirty children and babies behind? No. It was simply impossible.

Krispin looked rather green. "Wincott is second only to Trondheim for the number of near-extinct Mazoku races, isn't it?"

Aldrich replied stonily, "This evacuation will be race blind. They are all Wincotts. They're people, and not one of them deserved what befell them. This operation will attempt to help _all_ of them. No favoritism."

Krispin nodded unhappily, but added, "Erick? You have mountain rescue gear for these dragons, though, don't you? I bow to Aldrich as operational authority, _but!_ Please have the dragons _bring_ the rescue gear along? Let's give those operational commanders _options,_ eh?" Erick nodded and made a note of it. "Pray continue, Aldrich."

Aldrich nodded. "Brendan. Manfred. Three or more massive dragon flights are going to eat one hell of a lot. Fortunately, dragons don't mind week-old carcasses. I'd like to tell them anything lying down dead is fair game. I anticipate errors in interpretation_._ I suggest you alert your herdsmen. Although... I imagine they'll find plenty to eat in Wincott." The mountainous Wincott interior included large tracts of high rangeland. Manfred and Brendan ruefully made a note to warn their herders.

"Logistics," Aldrich pressed on. "The _only_ limiting factor to the first wave is the time to mobilize dragons and dragon riders. Before second wave, we need the evac routes manned at Winvale and the borders. Adelbert at Gratz. Gregor, will you take station at Pfeffer Ridge? Ted expects the worst and heaviest route to be here, east of Derringer at Holy Oak plantation. He'll take that one himself. I'll take station with the Wincott Regiment at Winvale."

"_Honey!_" Manfred blurted involuntarily.

Stone-faced, Aldrich's eyes never left the map. "**What**__did you call me?"

"Beg pardon, Aldrich. Lord Wincott," Manfred murmured. "But I don't believe it's _safe_ for you and the Regiment at Winvale."

"The town itself was shielded some by the shoulder of Twisted Sister." Aldrich's jab at the map suggested this was the name of a mountain. "Parts of Bielenfeld are much deeper in ash. Granted, it's the worst possible route out of Wincott. But my people are attempting it, anyway, because once they reach the Donza, they can stop walking. And it's one hell of a walk, to leave Wincott any other way. So that's where we'll be.

Aldrich's finger tapped at Trenton's map. "The holdup timewise is the Gratz back forty. Hell of a walk getting there. Garena. Brendan. Sophie. Could I get a rather... _innocuous_... dragon – Neville perhaps – to pick up Uncle Gorham and Adelbert at Gratzport or Gratzberg, and drop them off at Big Tam's spread? With luck, we'll have refugees streaming out before the military evac forces catch up. But if Big Tam says so, the ranches around there will house them until the cavalry arrives. Agreed?" They agreed.

"Then – hopefully we can begin with the first wave aerial survey tomorrow, and proceed with the other deployments in parallel. And finally get my refugees out of Wincott.

"_Then. _With luck, we have a lot more refugees. The able-bodied – approximately _none_ at first, they'll be exhausted or worse – but gradually, they'll return to Bielenfeld and Wincott to work on reclamation.

"_Manfred. Alana._ Shin Makoku is already inundated with Bielenfeld refugees. Yet my people, last to receive help, are likely in the worst shape. I demand that they receive _at least_ as good as Bielenfeld got. Wincott will not accept Bielenfeld's leftovers. Not in fosterage of children, not in hospital facilities, not in anything. I demand equal treatment for them. Even if that requires Bielenfeld refugees to be displaced."

"Agreed," said Alana sourly. She was not amused by her son addressing her by her first name.

"Agreed," said Manfred slowly. But he rose to request his turn to speak, which Krispin granted with a nod. Aldrich did not deign to sit to yield him the floor, though.

In turn, Manfred, true scion of courtly Bielenfeld – at such a formal function, at least – would not sink to Aldrich's curt style. With slight bows to each person he addressed, he said, "Lord Krist, Sire, Ladies, Lords. I agree, _in principle,_ to what Lord Wincott has requested, in justice. But as he himself also pointed out, the federation's facilities are already groaning under the burden. There is no way to accept thousands more refugees – in even _worse_ shape – without displacing my already-displaced citizens. Obviously, I have concerns. Also, this is not a short-range problem. Lady Alana, we've yet to hear your criteria, for restoring control of the country to the Maou and Eleven –"

"Get to the point, Manfred," Aldrich interrupted.

Manfred paused to check his temper, then looked politely to Krispin. "I believe I have the floor?"

"You do," agreed Krispin, followed by a quelling glance at Aldrich.

Manfred resumed, "The _point_ being, that the refugee problem will likely outlast Marshall Law. To ensure continuity of care, I'd like to suggest that, _now,_ we establish _centralized_ oversight of the refugees, joint Lord and Marshall. My son, Lord Wolfram, is Bielenfeld Lord of Public Health and Welfare. The Shin Makoku federation has no such office. And my Lord Wolfram's charges – Bielenfeld's most vulnerable citizens – are scattered across the realm. _Right now,_ I should yield the floor back to Lord Wincott, that he may wrap up his rescue operation discussion. I'm sure he would like to set that in motion right away. _However. _At this point, I'd like to submit _for your consideration,_ that we make Lord Wolfram _Shin Makoku_ Lord of Public Health and Welfare, and give him the charter to coordinate nation-wide refugee care arrangements, and the other daunting health and welfare challenges that are likely to persist through the summer. And quite likely, into the winter, if as I expect, food supplies remain tight. Thank you." Manfred sat.

"Thank you, Lord Bielenfeld," said Krispin. "An excellent suggestion, we shall take up after break. Everyone, please give this proposal some consideration in the meantime. Lord Wincott?"

"First, I'd like to underline, buried in the midst of all that, that Manfred did agree _in principle_ and _in justice,_ that Wincott's unfortunates deserve the _same _ care as Bielenfeld's," Aldrich asserted. "That would include access to _healers_ and _medical supplies_. Bielenfeld has the lion's share of both. Wincott was second, but unfortunately, both were concentrated in the Winvale area. The medical supplies are destroyed, and what healers survive, mostly need medical care themselves. Even if there aren't enough healers or medicines to meet Bielenfeld's need." He stared hard at Manfred.

Manfred met his husband's eye briefly, sighed, and nodded assent. _That will be very hard to do. As you well know, dammit._ Efram and Dietrich looked like they wanted to crawl under the tables and hide. Friedrich's taut-lipped stare was fixed on them. Wolfram, briefly pleased by his father's recommendation, quickly realized the assignment was over his depth. He was already head down over his scratch pad, gnawing a pen and scratching notes.

"Right, then," continued Aldrich. He waved a hand. "The rest can wait. Any further objections, or can we adjourn to get this moving? The people of Wincott await relief. And they have waited _too long._ I think this new approach will get them the help they need, as soon as possible."

Krispin looked around the room. All looked thoughtful and somber for a few moments. He was about to call the break to proceed, when Wolfram stood.

"Excuse me, Lord Krist, but I have an issue, that may _also _need to get moving toward resolution, to support Lord Wincott's plan. As he mentioned, the medical stockpiles in Wincott are lost, and Bielenfeld's are getting tight. It's come to my attention that _Dubois_ has stockpiles –"

Evrinne von Tarkenburg stood and interrupted him. "My apologies, Lord Wolfram. You've been, ah, _used_, a little, to divert René's attention to the capitol. Sorry." She smiled at him winningly. "The Dubois medical stockpiles were liberated this morning by the Ladies' Textile Workers Union – your grandmother's employees." Phoebe and Sophie – all the Lady Marshalls in fact – were also grinning. "Phoebe?"

"I should have a high-level inventory for you within the hour, pretty vixen," Wolfram's grandmother Phoebe told him. "For now, I have the Truckers' Guild en route to deliver the goods to Teddy and Bert in Castletown. It won't get there until tomorrow, but once you and Fred have the inventory..." She waved vaguely, as in, _You know what to do with it, I don't._

René Lord Dubois smoldered silently in his seat, knowing full well he'd get no sympathy here.

Wolfram sank back to his seat, blushing. "Ah, thank you, Grandma, Lady Evrinne. No other issues, Lord Krist."

Krispin grinned, grateful for the Ladies lightening up the tense room. They adjourned.

Aldrich, Brendan, Garena, and Erick left the room together like a shot.

-oOo-

Manfred hung back and watched the boys fold up their maps, his expression closed.

Phoebe and Sophie descended on him. "Don't let him get to you, Fred," said Phoebe.

Manfred gave her a peck on the cheek. "Thank you, Mother. Brilliant operation in Dubois! Was that your idea?"

Sophie smiled and indicated Evrinne with a jerk of the head. Then frowned. "Little Ricky's always pompous, but I've never seen him like _this_ before." Friedrich's baby half-sisters, the women were actually Aldrich's aunts, but his seniors by only half a generation. They were more like Aldrich's sisters.

"Mm, maybe after that winter he got stranded in Gratz Pass, when we all thought he was dead," Phoebe differed.

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Well, at least this time he's not drunk as a fish. You wouldn't remember, Fred. We didn't let him _near_ you and Bert _then._" Manfred and Adelbert would have been about 15, Aldrich's last year in the Trond Mail. Aldrich and Franklin von Trondheim were among the first Mailmen. The boys had barely known them then, they'd been home so rarely.

"I still haven't gotten that story out of him," Manfred admitted. "What happened that winter in Gratz Pass."

"Nor will you," suggested Friedrich, who'd never left the Bielenfeld table. "That secret may have died with Franklin."

"_You_ don't know?" asked Manfred in surprise.

Friedrich shook his head no, then switched to a rocking so-so. "I imagine I got the jist. He's never spoken of it, though. You're right, Phoebe. Aldrich's behavior does remind me of that time."

"Does that explain anything?" Manfred asked.

"About how to snap him out of it?" replied Friedrich. "Not obviously. Or rather, as you just saw. I gave him the AvB plantation back then. He went workaholic and laid off the booze... for a time. Now he has Wincott." Friedrich roused himself from that depressing meditation. "Now, nephew, get your birds sent, so we can enjoy a cup of coffee and a little romp with my darling grandson Avram before the meeting starts up again, hm?" The valet Thomas had firmly detached Avram from Manfred's arms today, rather than let Manfred clutch him like a teddy bear all day.

Manfred glanced over Efram's notes. The youth still sat mournfully watching the _'squirts'_, his junior brother heirs Trenton and Dietrich, refurling their classy maps. "What birds need to be sent for this list, pixie?" Manfred quizzed him. He made a couple fine adjustments to Efram's answers, and charged Efram with sending the birds.

As he stood to go do that, Dietrich held out his map case. "Would you like my map?"

"Oh, wow, thank you, Diet," Efram said, and reached for it.

"No," vetoed Manfred gently. "Thank you, Dietrich, that was very generous. But Aldrich Chichiue spent a lot of time making those maps with you and Trenton. That map is part of Dietrich's education, Efram. Aldrich's big on maps. Trenton, when we were a little older than Efram, your Uncle Adelbert and I spent a whole summer drawing maps at Aldrich's training camp. Bet he made your father draw them, too."

"Lots," agreed Trenton, with a grin.

"I have another map of Wincott, at home," said Dietrich. "Grandfather... Grandfather Elliot and I made it together, when Wolfram took his turn as Heir to Bielenfeld. Efram can borrow this one, until he makes his own." The child gulped. It was bad enough for Wolfram and Aldrich, to have their birthrights yanked out from under their feet. Dietrich was reeling.

Efram took the map decisively. "Thank you, Diet," he said sincerely. "I'll be counting on you – and you too, Trent – to show me the ropes. You guys are way ahead of me. I've got a lot to learn. I'll take good care of this, I promise, until I have time to make my own maps."

Dietrich blushed a little and nodded, and the boys scampered off, Efram in their wake.

-oOo-

"Greta," said Conrad from behind her at the perpetual buffet. His casual touch on her elbow sent warmth up her arm and down to her middle somehow.

Greta gulped, schooled her expression, and turned to face him with a bright smile. "Un – um, Lord Conrad! Good to see you again. Is all well on the borders?" He'd left for Mizrat Prospect in Khrennikov, when the military went up to Bielenfeld.

He nodded offhandedly. "I wanted to catch you before the meeting resumed. I have a favor to ask."

Greta forced herself not to gulp again, and merely looked inquiring.

"There's a big human and half-human population in eastern Wincott. I'm glad Brendan is allowing Adelbert to command that evacuation route." Adelbert was a _Lord von Weller_ these days, in effect. He worked for Conrad's scattered domain – humans sprinkled through other domains and Shin Makoku proper – and maintained his own powerful international contacts. _Like Robichaud of Adreshulde._ Conrad continued, "But, there's good reason my people stay on the _Wincott_ side of that border. I'm not sure how much clout an abdicated Lord Gratz carries. The Gratz back forty is pretty independent. I'm thinking... a beautiful princess, such as yourself, might smooth the way, and add a little _Maou-seal-of-approval_ clout to the message, _treat these humans right._ Is that something you'd be willing to do?"

Greta sighed in relief and nodded. "Sure! I'd love to! I've been wishing I could do more for the disaster relief."

Conrad smiled his soft warm smile. "Excellent. I'll make arrangements. You'll have to leave with Brendan this afternoon, to meet Adelbert in Gratzport. You'll probably be gone a week."

She nodded assent. Liesel would be fine here without her.

"Good. Thank you. And Greta... when you return, I'd like to discuss my marriage proposal with you. But not here. Let's take a day and ride out to Lutenberg together. Alright?"

"Um, sure!" _Ride to Lutenberg and see where he'd have me build our castle..._

Conrad didn't choose to complicate things further. He excused himself, with a bow and a warm smile.

_I thought I knew something from how strongly Robichaud's touch affected me,_ thought Greta. _Then Efram's kiss, so sweet and fun and innocent. Then Conrad's touch, so warm. I'm not sure how much use this touch thing is going to be, in figuring out who to marry._ She found she was hugging herself, holding the elbow where Conrad had touched her so briefly. But she didn't stop. _If I'm not sure I'd be happy with someone else, I am sure I'd be safe here at home with Conrad. And building my own castle... _

_Liesel. I'm about to go to Gratz. I need to tell Liesel and Yuuri and Cecilie I'll be away._

Her eyes cast about the room, but lit on Giesela instead. _Hmm. I did promise Manfred..._

She wandered over to Giesela. She commiserated about how hard Wolfram had come down on her this morning. She congratulated her for getting a shirt on the uppity centaur. She apologetically told her that though her husband had _asked_ for her hand in marriage, she'd turned it down. She shared that she was still considering Adelbert, and was excited to join him in the evacuation –

"_What?_" said Giesela, stricken.

_Bingo,_ thought Greta, _Manfred was right._ "Mm! I'm leaving this afternoon to meet Adelbert in Gratzport. Then we'll fly on a dragon to the Wincott border. Romantic, huh?" Actually, she felt a bit queasy, now that she imagined it, arms around Adelbert, hanging on for dear life. This seemed more than she'd bargained for. _Maybe I was too hasty agreeing to Conrad's favor. Hey. Why is Conrad setting me up with Adelbert, anyway? He did! Conrad set me up! Even the castle... Conrad offered for me to build the Weller domain seat whether I married him or Adelbert..._

"You know, I think I'll come with you!" announced Giesela. She strode away with Purpose in her eyes.

-oOo-

"Lord Wincott? A word with you privately, if I may?" invited Manfred politely, holding a door open to someone's office. He motioned Aldrich in, to detach him from the crowd filing back toward the meeting room.

"The meeting's about to start again, Manfred. We don't have time for this," growled Aldrich.

"Do I look like I give a rat's ass?" Manfred returned in a pleasant tone. "We can do this in private, or in front of the Eleven, Marshalls, and Maou. I know which I'd prefer." He nodded smiling to several brother Lords, who smiled back in passing.

Aldrich entered the office grudgingly, and Manfred shut the door behind them.

"Lord Bielenfeld to Lord Wincott first," said Manfred, voice low and husky. "Don't you _ever_ speak to me that way in public again. _Nor_ in private."

Aldrich tried to reply, but Manfred overrode him. "Shut up and listen. We have a problem to solve, that Bielenfeld and Wincott appear to be in conflict for scarce resources. Note the keywords in that sentence. _We._ _Appear. _Not _Conflict._ _We_ need to work together. _We _both care about the people of _both_ Bielenfeld and Wincott. But _you_ unilaterally assigned me the role of _enemy._ I refuse to accept your stupid script, and _damn you_ for putting me in that position! You blindsided me completely, _as my vassal_, this past week. At no point did you bring me into your planning for... _all this._ If you _had_, you know damned well what I would have said. That Bielenfeld and Wincott are in this _together. _That it is _foolish _to attempt to establish a new Wincott government at this time. _Instead_ Wincott should be rolled into Bielenfeld _as one domain_ for the reconstruction. No _'divide up fairly'. _Simply share and work together as one! _This remains my opinion, Lord Wincott._"

"So noted," acknowledged Aldrich. "But not your call."

"So noted," acknowledged Manfred bitterly. "But then there's that _other_ thing. Manfred to his _husband._ Co-parent to baby Margritte in Donaghie, Avram at Blood Pledge, Efram and Dietrich, Wolfram and Bertram and Kieran. My _partner!_ Whom I might have expected to _support_ me in the hardest job I've ever faced! _No._ We are _not_ going there right now. But you _will_ promise me, right here and now, that we _will_ talk, husband to husband, before we leave here –"

"Manfred, Dietrich and I are going straight to Winvale –"

"You're taking_**Dietrich!?**_ You unmitigated _ass! No,_ you're _not!_ Again, Aldrich – we can find a nice private turret at a quarter past four, and have at it in private before we leave Blood Pledge. And we can behave – _really behave! –_ before our peers, as brother ruling Lords in the meantime. Or we _will_ have it out in front of them! Don't think I won't! _Moreover! _You will _back_ my proposal for Wolfram as Federal Lord of Public Health and Welfare, one hundred percent."

"Wolfram -!"

"- Or I will tell my brother Lords _why_ the conference of Squires declared you _unfit _to rule Bielenfeld. Sobbing uncontrollably, because millions of _trees_ had died. And then the dragons won't fly over Wincott, will they? _Don't think I won't tell them._ Because you and I both know you _belong_ in a nice cozy room at a sanatorium, untangling what the hell's going on between those pointy little ears of yours!"

"You wouldn't dare! Manfred, this plan is sound, and Wincott's best hope –"

"Agreed. _Unconditional support for Wolfram. And north turret. Quarter past four."_

Green-eyed demon glare met the exact same green glare, from differently shaped eyes. _"Fine!"_

"And a kiss."

It took a few moments, but Aldrich gradually gave in and kissed back. By the time Manfred broke it off, Aldrich's forehead still leaned on his own, tension released.

Manfred whispered, "I love you, Aldrich von Trondheim von Bielenfeld von Wincott. Remember that. Whoever you are. Whoever you become. Whatever else happens out there. We shut the door on it. And we're OK again."

-oOo-

Wolfram became Shin Makoku's first nationwide Lord of Public Health and Welfare that day. Yuuri was overjoyed, until he found that Wolfram intended to carry out his new office from Castletown, just the same. For now.

Garena never did speak. Krispin finally gave him a chance at quarter to four, but by then, apparently he'd thought better of it, and passed.

-oOo-

"_You're cold!"_ Adelbert called above the wind. He threw an arm with attached cloak about Greta's shoulders, and hugged her close. _"Gorgeous night!_ _Phew!_" he whistled, exhiliaration shining in his eyes.

It was indeed a gorgeous night! Though a bit chilly at their speed, a couple thousand feet up. At their backs was the smallish dragon Neville, of the most famous courtship of the Dragon Insurrection. Garena and the elderly Lord Gorham von Gratz hung suspended on the other side, out of earshot. With four of them, they didn't ride the dragon's back, but rather hung in stirrups to either side of a yoke over the powerful wing-shoulders. Before them was sheer magic. Between wingbeats, they looked out over the night landscape of Gratz, under a clear star-studded moonlit sky, on their way up to Big Tam Tamerlane's.

They'd arrive past midnight. Despite the urgency of the Wincott operation, they were inexplicably delayed a couple hours leaving Blood Pledge due to Manfred and Aldrich disappearing. Good-byes were long and difficult, and in some cases reversed altogether – Yuuri insisted on accompanying Wolfram to Ted's evacuation post at Holy Oak. Dietrich and Trenton – entrusted by Manfred to Brendan and his wife Hilde – won permission from Hilde to return to Bielenfeld, though absolutely _not_ Wincott. Giesela made it as far as Gratzport with them, but Adelbert firmly pointed her up the road to join the supply wagon train to Big Tam's – no more room on the dragon. Greta and Adelbert had ridden on horseback at best possible speed from Gratzport to Gratzberg, to make their date with Gorham and Neville. Still, she feared they'd be waking Big Tam and his family with an awfully surprising ruckus in the wee hours. She hoped they had a sense of humor.

Greta's initial _oh-no-oh-my! _reaction to Adelbert's massive arm around her passed off quickly. Adelbert's action was simple common sense, under the circumstances. And unlike her – intensely aware of the huge warm man whose arm she snuggled in – Adelbert's glowing eyes and fey grin were directed outward. She suspected he would have thrown an arm around any companion the same way, male or female, unconsciously protective and undemanding. Grateful for his distraction, she explored how it felt to be held close to this mountain of a man.

_Protected. Warm. You'd never depend on this man in vain. He's solid, through and through. How sadly ironic, that of all people, Adelbert von Gratz should ever be called traitor. No one could be more reliable!_ And ever since Conrad had added him to her marriage prospect list, Greta fearfully imagined what it would be like, to be with someone so **big. **_It's nice!_ she concluded. _Well, in his arms... The rest of him... Hm._

"_Kissing moons!"_ cried Adelbert, pointing. _"Never happened before – the new moon and the old, touching like that!"_ Indeed, the new Maou-purple Yuuri moon seemed to be just starting to cross in front of the older, bigger white moon, whose name remained "the moon". _"Huh. Didn't realize the purple one was closer to us. _Do you mind if I speak in your ear instead of yelling, Greta?"

Actually, it sent shivers up and down her neck and spine. He hugged her closer, assuming she was cold. "Yeah, that's better," she agreed. _Well, it is better than yelling. And... yeah. Quite nice, really... Wow._

"Three years I've been waiting to talk to you about marriage," Adelbert confessed. "Never dreamed I'd get a night as romantic as this." And indeed, there were literally stars shining in his eyes.

_Wait. What!_ "What?"

"I started... having feelings for you. When you were seventeen. You were too young, I had to put it aside, but... I couldn't stop thinking about you. After a year, I asked Conrad, when you'd be old enough, by their lights, Yuuri's family, for me to speak to you. He said twenty-one. Now you're only twenty, but, you started looking for a husband." He pulled away from her ear to look at her face, to see her reaction.

Gorgeously romantic and adventurous it might be, hanging from the side of a dragon in a starry night. But Greta wouldn't have minded a little more light to see each other by. _Oh, wait. He's part troll-ogre! _Adelbert and his brother Brendan saw quite well in the dark actually. Greta blushed furiously.

"I'm sorry that's unwelcome news," said Adelbert sadly. "I meant it as a compliment."

"Oh, no! No," Greta said, hurriedly. "I just... You flustered me, that's all! I had no idea you felt that way! I didn't know _why_ you'd asked me to marry you."

Adelbert's face set into somber lines, no longer fey and exhiliarated. "Because I love you," he said simply.

-oOo-

_AN: There's a new poll up on my profile – top 5 favorite OC's._

_Please, please, __**please **__review? What did you like? What would you like to see more of?_


	7. Magic Words

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter:

_AN: Sorry for the long delay. For this story, this is kind of a half-chapter, but, maybe it's better to post a half-chapter than take another week or three for a whole one, that visits all the plots and principals._

**Chapter 7 – Magic Words**

_May 23rd_

_'I love you.' The magic words,_ Greta thought. _Like 'please'. And 'thank you'._ Greta frowned at herself for that quip. A wonderful man had his arm around her, professed his love for her. The setting couldn't be more romantic, flying above Gratz on a May evening, on a dragon beneath a starry sky. Both full moons kissed above them, a wonder never before seen. He asked her to marry him. What could be more perfect?

_Isn't that what I wanted most? For a man to say he loved me, and ask me to marry him?_

"I'm sorry that's unwelcome news," Adelbert repeated, to her scowl in the dark. "Perhaps I've presumed too much." He moved to take his arm from around her and gallantly give her his cloak.

_To sit in this cold wind in just your shirt? Not on your life, Chichibert! _ Greta grasped his arm and hugged it back around herself. "Don't be silly. I just – you took me off guard. I've thought of you as Chichibert for so long. When Conrad added the three of you to Wolfram's candidate list, I never dreamed he'd thought it through before."

Her clutch gave Adelbert hope. His body, stiffened in rebuff, uncoiled against hers more warmly. He returned in her ear, with tickling intimacy, "I dunno about _'thought it through'._ We agreed to build Castle Weller when either of us got married. We'd talked about you. I was surprised he asked for your hand himself. He was – no, Conrad'll present his own case. Murata... Are you really considering Murata?"

"No," Greta said firmly.

"I'm relieved," he said, and the further relaxation of his powerful body against hers proved it.

The feel of that muscled security, shielding her from the cold breeze of their winged passage, heat against her thigh, warm breath against her ear, forearm pulled by her to lie between her breasts – these were getting a bit distracting. _I could,_ she thought. _I could say yes, and live with this man. Safe and warm, in a beautiful castle, not far from home. Be Frieda's stepmother, instead of big sister. She'd like that! And we'd have more children, half-demon just like Frieda..._

_Half-demon. Yes, that's why I discounted Adelbert._

"I talked to Manfred about marrying you," Greta said, by way of broaching the subject. Manfred and Adelbert were _'cradle-buddies'_, as Wolfram called it – cross-fostered from infancy, schooled together, joined the army together. They'd grown apart after Wolfram was born, and had fights that stretched for years. But in the end, the mismatched pair remained closer than brothers.

"Manfred's a racist," Adelbert commented. "I'm not." He didn't mean to be curt. The awkwardness of taking turns speaking into each other's ears brought out battlefield habits of succinctness.

"It's not like that," Greta denied. "He's afraid you'll be hurt. And I'll be hurt watching you watch me get old, while you're still young."

Adelbert's face set into stern lines again. "My heart's braver than that. So's his. So's yours. Life is transient, Greta. People die. Demons and humans both. Love while you can."

Greta gazed at him in awe. _You're a great man, Adelbert von Gratz. A brave heart... Yes, I believe you. You have a brave heart. _

Adelbert must have caught the gist of this from her face, for he grinned and looked out over the night-cloaked high rangelands again. His land, once – he'd ruled Gratz for decades, then walked away. Just as his father had. To pursue some higher call of his heart.

_It's not easy, to love a great man – isn't that what Manfred said? Even deciding whether I love him is like trying to tread water next to a whirlpool. I'm pulled in._

_I wasn't pulled in by Murata. I'll always love Efram, but our brief time of matching ages is already gone. I was pulled in by Robichaud... _

_Robichaud. _Her heart felt a pang as she thought of Robichaud. _But he may not ask me._ Pang. _Why would I choose this stranger Shadrach-priest over my known and beloved Chichibert?_ Pang. _Because he's my Chichibert?_

_Well, he __**is**__ my Chichibert._ No heart pang. _But Robichaud..._ Pang.

Adelbert noticed her look. Very gently in her ear, he asked, "There's someone else?"

"Mn-nn, no... maybe," she said. "Adelbert, what do you think of Robichaud?"

"Chaud?" Adelbert looked surprised. "Great kid, grown into a great king. Why?"

This struck Greta as a weird mix of sensitive insight and bricklike obtuseness. _You can tell every time my thoughts change, but you didn't quite catch the 'Who else?', 'Robichaud' simple interchange, eh? _This brought a fond smile to her face, for this was so very, _very_ Chichibert. She looked at him, eyes atwinkle, with a few exaggerated blinks. _C'mon, Chichibert, you can figure this out!_

"Huh?! Chaud said he wasn't interested!" cried Adelbert. "Oh – that was before he met you. Oh." He pulled away and frowned off at the horizon for a bit. "Damn."

"He hasn't asked me," Greta eventually offered. "Not yet."

"_He will,"_ Adelbert called out, into the wind instead of her ear. His narrowed eyes drank in Gratz solemnly. Greta imagined he'd looked out on battlefields the same way, before action began, back in his day as a General.

_Day? Century, more like. Adelbert is what, 180 now? _Greta was used to living with demons. But every once in a while, the sheer vastness of the years of their experience still yawned open before her like an ocean. _Where all has he been? What all has he done, and thought? How many people has he known, loved, lost? And for a demon, he's still counted a young man – a full adult at 100, considered mature at 200..._

Greta was unsure how to cross the gulf that suddenly lay between them, though she still sat wrapped in his arm and greatcloak. She gazed at his distant gaze, stricken.

In a while, he saw, and gave her a sad smile and brief hug. "That's the Pemunder River," he said in her ear again, pointing to a ribbon of silver below. "Donza tributary. Other side's Bielenfeld."

This was her familiar friendly Chichibert again. His breath in her ear no longer sent shivers of excitement racing along her neck, exciting more guarded places. Greta wasn't sure whether to be relieved, or deeply saddened. _Both_, she eventually decided.

Adelbert didn't speak of his marriage proposal again that magical night. She considered saying things, but each time... didn't. _I've no wish to raise your hopes and dash them. Because I love you, too, Chichibert. Just... not that way._

-oOo-

Fortunately, Big Tam Tamerlane and his enormous family _did_ have a sense of humor. The fact that Greta and company flew in on _the_ most famous – and least threatening – dragon of the Dragon Insurrection, helped. Everyone roused from bed, and a horde of female and child Tamerlanes poured laughing out of the sprawling ranch-house complex to pet Neville in delight, despite their arrival in the wee hours of the morning.

Also fortunately, Adelbert had warned the racially conscious Greta that all Gratz Mazoku were called _demons_. Anything else was an insult. For Big Tam was indeed _big._ Greta supposed he couldn't be Troll Mother's full troll-ogre son himself. Surely he'd have died by now, too, though no one knew when or where. But Big Tam was certainly bigger than any of the von Gratz or von Trondheim troll-ogre descendants. The rest of his enormous family weren't much watered-down by shorter demon blood, either. She supposed it made sense in this remote area, that the locals were a tad... _inbred._

Big Tam seemed a one-man population explosion of himself, and hells knew how long he'd been busily begetting. Upon learning their errand, the affable teal-haired 9-foot _'demon' _, with signature ogre craggy features and flop-top ears, selected a half-dozen or so large adolescents to send packing into the night to pass the word of what was going on. The boys included great-grandsons, grandsons, and a son. And Big Tam was pleased to meet '_young'_ Friedrich's twin brother Garena – nearly 800 years old.

_AN : 9 feet = 275 centimeters_

Big Tam's young wife did ask Greta rather worriedly whether she'd be OK eating meat and potatoes for a snack. But Big Tam laughed out loud and swatted her playfully toward the kitchen, explaining that humans could eat demon food just fine. "You'll have to pardon the missus, Princess. We don't get much _humans_ round here."

Greta got to sleep near dawn, when the assorted female Tamerlanes in her assigned dormitory were off to milk the dairy herd – of which some percentage was cattle. She woke again near noon, at the redoubled ruckus occasioned by the elven Lady Guya'k'vriel von Trondheim's arrival, leading six more dragons manned (and womanned) by a decidedly _non-_demon crew, mostly goblins and her fellow elves. _The better to see at night,_ Guya explained laughingly to Adelbert. True, there were extensive pasturelands in their assigned survey area of Wincott, but also many forested slopes. The only way they'd see people traveling those passes from above, was by their night cookfires.

Guya gently led in a tall blindfolded elf of regal bearing, and long fine cornsilk-green hair, to sit at Big Tam's giant supper table. This man sat with perfect posture, narrow fingers splayed before him on the table, face motionless, and spoke not a word. Guya warned everyone not to speak to him. "A map-working from Elvenhall," she explained.

Greta sighed. _'From Elvenhall'_ was sure to mean there would be few explanations. For the high elven separatists, helping at all was extraordinarily forthcoming. And indeed, she never even learned the man's name.

Guya spread a large, almost entirely white, map of Wincott on the table. She placed a silver-filigreed quill by the elegant elf's hand. Another dozen or so quills and smaller maps she piled to the side. To the rapt attention of Big Tam and Adelbert and everyone else who could squeeze in, she demonstrated how writing with these ensorcelled quills – they used no ink – marked simultaneously on all the smaller maps and the large one. The blindfolded elf's hand and quill and face remained motionless, his role in the affair opaque.

Greta grinned to see _'Yuuri'_ written as she watched – in Japanese – in the corner of the map. Guya grinned, too, and quickly drew a mouth with tongue out – apparently her idea of a _'Guya loves Erick'_ heart, directed at her husband Erick Lord Trondheim, currently with his uncle Ted's forces, as were Yuuri and Wolfram. Then she demonstrated how the feather end of the quill acted as an eraser. The _'Yuuri'_ was soon erased as well, elsewhere, as well as a brief appearance of some puckered lips directed back at Guya.

Greta could see markings on the large map from other sections of Wincott. It appeared the aerial survey was already underway from Aldrich's station at Winvale. Guya explained the desired markup – draw a box holding an approximate count where they saw refugees, with an arrow to indicate heading. The surveyors were to add an asterisk to the left of the box to indicate urgent need. A circle later would indicate help left from the relief forces, normally a healer lifted in to the group. The markup was magically scaled and tidied and transferred to the large map. A little 4-column running tally in the corner added up totals found by each of the 4 survey stations. After Guya erased her sample box of 20, the tally for the Gratz column disappeared, then was rewritten as zero, after a brief delay.

"What?!" Adelbert exclaimed, jabbing his finger at the map. Even at this scale, a square of 25 was visibly _moving_ down a little Donza tributary in Aldrich's volcano-blasted area.

Guya shrugged. "They must have launched rafts. Oh, I see. Yes, once a group is added, the map tracks them." Even the direction of the tiny arrow seemed to swerve to match the river course. Adelbert watched mesmerized. "Looks like whitewater," Guya added happily. The madcap elf quite enjoyed shooting rapids.

Now grasping what he had to work with, Adelbert figured out routes to be surveyed by day, and those by night. He took especial care to make sure this afternoon's flights would be back well before sunset, to maximize aerial coverage of the passes during that brief key time when refugee groups would have their supper fires lit before turning in. Greta found comfort in the way even _Guya_ was amazed at the quickness and surety with which Adelbert could plan a deployment of such strange forces. Yet even as he worked, real survey tallies already began appearing from Ted's station, from whence Wolfram and Yuuri flew this day.

_Wolfram told me Ted was the better general,_ thought Greta, feeling disloyal. _Well, Adelbert had farther to travel! Well, no, Ted probably __**is**__ a better general. He had to be better than anyone, a Trond trying to prove himself as the first in the Shin Makoku army. Wolfram says Ted was 'born-general', like demons say when they mean someone's a reincarnation continuing unfinished business, like Yuuri was 'born-Maou'. And Chichibert has such wide-ranging interests and experience besides the army. But how galling that must have been for him, to be promoted over Ted, a friend and cousin Lord he knew was the better man for the job. He must have worked so hard to make up for it. And he skimped on ruling Gratz in the process..._ Aldrich, not Adelbert, had in practice ruled Gratz, while Adelbert held the title of Lord Gratz. _He had reason..._ Though in honesty, Greta couldn't help faulting him for that choice, his generalship over his domain's subjects.

She stared at the master map. Brief marginal notes appeared and vanished, written in several languages, only one of which she could read. _What would Robichaud think of __**this?**_Greta wondered, then shot a quick guilty glance at Adelbert, who was entirely too occupied to notice it. From what she'd seen of Robichaud, he'd appreciate in a heartbeat the advantages of the magical methods they used. _Humans could never do something like this,_ she thought sadly. _And even Lady Alana couldn't __**ask **__for this kind of help. She said she just tells the troll reservation and Elvenhall what she's up against, and sometimes they offer help. But they won't give help if she asks. The Maou isn't even welcome to write to them, let alone ask for help. Humans? Never._

_If I do leave Shin Makoku, if I do marry Robichaud, should I even tell him about days like this? Conrad Lord Weller, Lord of Human Relations, would probably have something to say about that. Well, he'll say what he likes and I'll listen. But it will be up to me, in the end. In Yuuri's world, I bet humans__** could**__ do things like this. The first step is believing it's possible, right? _She didn't even notice when she quit feeling disloyal to Shin Makoku, because it flowed so smoothly into feeling loyal to her own humanity.

Adelbert's preparations were interrupted by Giesela's relief train arriving from Bielenfeld. They rode all night, plus caught a majutsu-powered lift up the Penumber River partway, to make such good time. With direction from Big Tam, Adelbert ordered the supply train commander to set up camp and field hospital across the rutted road from the ranch house. Minions saw to that, while the bleary-eyed commander and Giesela stayed in the command center of Big Tam's dining room.

Soon Adelbert was handing out maps and quills and orders for the seven afternoon dragon-riding teams. "Greta, you'll stay here –"

"No! I'm dragon-riding!" she insisted. _In the first wave, too! If I wait until tomorrow, human refugees might be here already. Then I'll never get to go!_ "I'm riding with you!"

Adelbert looked at her as if she were quite daft. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm in command of this operation!"

This wasn't Adelbert of the moonlight romance, nor Chichibert of the playroom floor, but General Adelbert in command of a tricky mission with lives at stake. Of course he'd stay in his headquarters, Greta realized, feeling stupid.

Giesela stepped forward. "I'll guard the Princess, Sir!" she offered, a sergeant completely in her element.

Adelbert scowled at her, but directed his orders to her superior, "Commander, I anticipate casualties. Giesela and the other healers, priority sacktime. Now." Greta watched in sympathy as the stricken Giesela was led away to bed, casting longing looks of anguish back over her shoulder toward Adelbert.

Adelbert had already dismissed Giesela from his mind. He surveyed his teams. _Guya? Too daredevil. Uncle Gorham? Out of his element. Garena? Unpredictable. Jophin?_ The goblin Jophin, Lord Erick's top goblin troubleshooter, was a well-known if dim-witted quantity. Clearly Erick and Guya trusted him. Greta and Adelbert once rescued Jophin and his band in the Krist Fens, and brought them home to Blood Pledge Castle, during the Dragon Insurrection. Jophin happily settled in as a bath attendant, as Erick's resident spy for the rest of the year, keeping his Lord well-informed from Günter's late-night gay bath scene. "Jophin," Adelbert ordered. "Take the princess on your dragon."

Jophin clapped his hands and squealed in delight. Greta grinned back at him.

Well, it wasn't a romantic dragonflight with a man who said he loved her, the way she'd imagined it. But with Jophin's all-goblin crew, she did get to be the spokesperson wherever the dragon landed to talk to refugees. And Jophin was pretty bad with numbers, so she got to write on the map, too. He had great eyes, though, hidden behind his sunglasses. And one couldn't ask for a cheerier companion on a dire task.

And the task was dire. _Water bad,_ she wrote in the margin, after talking to a large throng of exhausted, thirsty refugees. _Gratz border too far._ She stared at her note for a minute, wondering if someone, somewhere, would write back. But the writing simply disappeared – all the acknowledgement she'd ever gotten for a margin note. Someone read it, then erased it. She glanced back at the several hundred desperate refugees, at the mercy of volcano-soiled snowmelt rivulets. And she resolutely mounted up again, to continue their assigned survey route.

_First we locate them, then we can send help._ But what help, to bring water and food to thousands, maybe tens of thousands?

-oOo-

_Please, please, __**please **__review? What did you like? What would you like to see more of?_


	8. Mothers of Heroes

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter:

_AN: Thanks to DemiDaemon and ELENIOFME and pandawolf for reviewing! And thanks again to panda, for persuading me to continue!_

**Chapter 8 – Mothers of Heroes**

_May 24th_

On a top floor of Castle Bielenfeld, amidst attics moldering with family history, lay Lord Friedrich's bastion, his hideaway from ruling a domain he never wanted, from _'raising six children, only two of them his'_ – his painting studio. Friedrich himself was in Winvale, keeping an eye on his son Aldrich. He hadn't painted here in years. The hallway was dark. All sound from the clamoring hospital four floors below dissipated into the vast grumble of the glutted city. Yet a fresh-painted sign hung on the studio door.

_Do Not Disturb_

_For Any Reason_

Inside the room stood a macabre array of posing skeletons, male and female, small and large, sporting bizarre hats and faded clothes centuries out of fashion. Having killed neither man nor beast himself, Friedrich had rid the Castle décor below of all taxidermy, warehousing his family's macabre trophies up here, so that he might draw from life, sort of. More hats and spare clothes hung from moose and elk antlers. Painter's smocks perched on a dragon's nose. Centuries of paintings stood racked. Most were garishly surreal, but about one in four nearly breathed with life, especially portraits of his wife and sister and brothers, father and son, long gone. A counter stood facing the door, bristling with alchemical beakers and burners and pig-tail copper pipes. Anyone entering had to walk half the room and back again around this final barrier, lest anyone miss the point.

Sophie von Gratz, Marshall of the North, didn't miss the point. She was raised by the room's master. "This studio still gives me the creeps," she confided. "I feel I should be spanked any moment for trespassing."

Alana von Trondheim, Marshall of the East, snorted. "Or _flayed_," she agreed wryly. Wolfram's ubiquitous signs about unauthorized peeing or pooping – and the flaying for infractions – had become a bad joke among the relief workers. General Ted, Alana's nephew, had promptly claimed jurisdiction over military justice. Civilians remained at Wolfram's mercy.

Lady Alana – only slightly older than Sophie – had also lived here for a year, as Friedrich's wife, when she and Sophie were mere girls in their sixties. Alana too had been terrified of this room. No sign of it remained now. She bent to her work over huge maps laid on her husband's matting and framing table, meticulously transferring notations from the four survey section maps, to the master map, switching between magical quills. Occasionally, she pointed for Sophie to do the same when markup appeared too quickly. But many of the marginal notes were in Trondish and Elvish. Alana worked quickly, thoroughly, calmly, a master mapmaker and juggler of lives. She paid no attention to the five high elves arrayed on the other side of the table, blindfolded, each with fingers spread on a map beside an untouched magic quill, in statuesque stillness.

Alana and Sophie had barely anything to do with each other since that time when they were girls. _My loss,_ Sophie sighed, with uncharacteristic humility.

The appearance of a marginal note from Greta broke Sophie's bittersweet reverie. "Damn. Water's contaminated all over the west of my son's quadrant." A swish of feather vanished Greta's note. A dark quill transferred the location of a refugee group estimated at 220, to the largest map, with an arrow for heading. Another feather swish erased the Gratz station total and replaced it with 5375. Sophie took up a sky-blue pen to mark the water need of this latest group with an asterisk. About half the refugees in Adelbert's eastern quadrant needed clean water. None so far in Gregor von Dienst's western quadrant. All, in Aldrich and Ted's central quadrants.

Alana glanced quickly at the elf touching that map, then away, apparently reassured, though of _what_, Sophie wasn't sure. "Good thing our Maou is a water user," Alana murmured. "Greta's handwriting. I'm surprised you're OK with her and Adelbert."

"What about them?" asked Sophie.

"Adelbert asking her to marry him," Alana amplified, never pausing in her annotations.

"_He - !_ **ARGH!**" In between markings, Sophie swore a blue streak off and on for five minutes. The part about the probable provenance of a bizarrely _brown_-skinned chit was especially inventive. She eventually wound down, and said, "Be glad you have a good son like Aldrich!"

Alana sighed. "The one killing himself in Winvale? Aldrich can barely _walk, _and he goes right back to where he..._ gah._ An important son is sure to make a mother tear her hair out. What about Giesela?"

"What about her?"

"She wants Adelbert."

Sophie's narrow aquamarine eyes glowed with sudden avarice. "A _healer! _ A von Krist. Only an _adopted_ Aristocrat, but by merit and law, close enough. _Krispin_ accepts her. _Manfred_ says she should teach! A healer professor daughter-in-law!" Stars shone in her eyes. "_That_ might even get _Brendan_ to let Adelbert come home to Gratz again! What matter a half-human daughter, if he's straightened out now and married to a demon Aristocrat of _talent._" Sophie's eyes narrowed further. "Wait. Why do you care, Alana?"

"My niece Ilya wants Murata. Giesela's no good for Trondheim."

"Hmm!" Sophie considered the problem carefully for a while while working. Not so easy, steering a headstrong grown man to do _the right thing_ by his mother's lights. Sophie had experience trying, of course. At last, she chuckled. "I've got it! May I send an order to Giesela, please?"

"Not without Ted's approval, and only to Giesela via Adelbert." Alana's tone was suppressive.

Sophie explained her scheme, though, and Alana went along with it. A piece of paper served as private channel between Alana and her nephew, in military command of the operation.

Alana: _Sophie wants to order AvG – send Giesela in now. OK?_

Ted: _ No. Why?_

Alana: _Giesela + Adelbert = Ilya + Murata_

Alana wished she could see the look on Ted's face. She could read him, even if no one else could. Ted and his beloved older sister Ilya were every bit as wayward and willful as their eldest brother Franklin had been dutiful and traditional. Ilya at age 210 was still shockingly virgin – at far as men went. She'd been quite happy in Shinou's temple shacking up with the other shrine maidens. _Ted'll say yes, just to see big sister get laid,_ Alana predicted wryly.

Ted: _Understood. __I__ order Adelbert. Not Sophie._

_Now if only I could get Ted to get a good woman instead of his parade of 2-year mistresses..._ But Alana reported back to Sophie, "Success – Ted'll make it happen."

Sophie frowned at the page, wondering how her diabolically brilliant plan could possibly be construed therein. But she didn't have time to pursue it.

_AvEtc down – FvB assumes command_

"Alana..." said Sophie in dismay. She pointed to the marginal note on the Winvale station map, and placed a hand on her sister-in-law's back in offered comfort.

"I see it," Alana said quietly. She swished the note away with a flourish of feather, then continued what she was doing on Ted's Holy Oak station map. After a few moments, Friedrich added:

_FvB executes Plan B_

At that Alana sighed in relief. She replaced her husband's note on Winvale's map with, _'Ghosts be with you.'_ On Ted's station map, she wrote, _'AvT to TvT: execute Plan B.'_ After that, a spate of terse instructions appeared in Ted's writing, to Adelbert and Gregor von Dienst, fine-tuning Plan B – Winvale station to evacuate, with Holy Oak and Pfeffer Ridge to split its quadrant. Adelbert to transfer two dragons to Holy Oak. Each of Winvale's dragons currently in flight re-routed to Holy Oak and Pfeffer Ridge.

-oOo-

Wolfram was having a blast.

Oh, yes, the situation was dire, prospects grim. The landscape they surveyed, winging on their old friend Liesl-Pochi, was straight out of hell. Forests burnt to charred sticks, canted sharply away from the volcano blast, still smoldering, sulfur fumes wafting. Exhausted refugees in snowshoes tried to walk atop ash, and sank knee-deep. They hauled ash-sleds made of anything they could find. By now, the sleds carried little save food and water, and family who could no longer walk. Wordly possessions were jettisoned in the desperate battle just to stay alive.

_You really are an action junkie, love,_ thought Yuuri with a smile. _Well, I guess we both are. _He hung back, hidden in his cloak, while Wolfram interviewed the band of forty they'd dropped out of the sky to speak with. They had a couple of goblins on their crew for their excellent eyes. But they all hung back and let Wolfram do the talking.

As cookpots were presented, Wolfram finished his interview and map annotations, and beckoned Yuuri forward. The dejected little group of Wincotts gasped as Yuuri flung back his hood to smile at them. He strode forward and effortlessly filled their pots with pure clean water. "Hang in there," he encouraged, wading into the group to touch a shoulder here, grasp a hand there, smile, hold each's eye in turn. "Just keep going. You're not alone. Shin Makoku is doing everything in our power to help you. Shinou bless you. Please share this water with everyone you come across. You'll make it." And in minutes Pochi carried them aloft again.

Yuuri found it hard to keep looking below. His eye kept drifting to the glowing face of his beloved in his arms, as they dangled in their dragon-stirrups. Wolfram's shining green eyes darted everywhere, with an infectiously fey grin. _"I love you!"_ Yuuri called in his ear. _"This is fun!"_

Wolfram laughed out loud and nodded. _"I love you too, wimp!"_

_"I brought my flute,"_ Yuuri offered. _"Could send rain to all of them."_

_"I'd like to blow __**your**__ flute!" _Wolfram teased. He'd learned Yuuri's Japanese slang for a favorite love-making technique long ago. _"But not yet. Survey first. Tell Ted when we get back."_

_"Right,"_ agreed Yuuri. He hugged Wolfram closer and tried to attend to the scouting task at hand. He couldn't stop smiling, though. _We haven't felt this good together in a long time! I hope you're past whatever was bothering you, love._

When they got back to Holy Oak, they found the quadrant headquarters roiling in purposeful chaos. Nearly a thousand refugees had already made it to their field hospital. Based on early survey results, Ted was advancing his relief forces another 15 miles into Wincott, though continuing to orchestrate the dragon flights from his original position. Even the Maou needed to wait his turn to speak to the large blue-haired general, who was simultaneously working his maps and conveying orders to a parade of officers. The uncanny silent blindfolded elves stood motionless – four at this station. Hasgrud, Lord Erick's half-troll lieutenant, served as a trilingual maptending assistant. When Yuuri and Wolfram made it to the head of the line, Ted bid Hasgrud take over the maps, to give Yuuri his undivided attention.

After Yuuri suggested his magic flute rainstorm, to provide water to the maximum number of refugees, Ted nodded thougjtfully. "They'd need advance warning, Sire. Without tree cover, a rain in these mountains'll turn into flash floods. Their first thought'll be danger, not help. Too busy scrambling uphill for safety, or worse yet, caught in a flood, before anyone would think to collect the water." But still he stared at the magical maps, considering. "On the other hand, they won't make it much longer without good water. Every time they have to drink from the tainted streams, they grow weaker."

"Noon is good," came a surprise voice down at Ted's elbow. Ted startled as he turned to face little Salix, accompanied by Garena, both suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

"Nymphs offered to help," explained Garena, then promptly disappeared again. He was busy flying a dragon crew at the moment, out of Adelbert's station.

"Salix!" Yuuri greeted the familiar wood nymph warmly. This was Tariel's best friend, nymph of the pussy willow, now leader of the lesser nymphs. Wolfram's great grand-nymph Tariel had moved on, now an arch-angel of Earth. For the most part, the great nymphs remained aloof, inexplicable, and rarely helpful. But Salix of the delightful pussy-willow hair, remained a renegade.

Salix smiled and nodded. "Water nymph help, too," he offered. "Control water flow. All Donza tributaries OK to float downstream. Yuuri blow flute _here,_ at noon." Salix pointed on the map, north of Winvale. "Then rain fall hard _here_, to _here. _One hour."

Yuuri grinned in appreciation. That part he still couldn't tell, exactly _where_ and _how much _rain would fall, when he blew the flute.

Ted's mind already raced ahead, though, finger tracing the map with possibilities. "Then we could finish the evening survey, and _then_ send out word..."

"I can do it," offered Wolfram. "Let another crew do the cookfire survey, and when they get back, take a night-time run and spread the news into morning. All the dragon-talkers can."

"It'll work," Ted agreed with a smile. "Let's do it."

"Shin Makoku owes you again, friend Salix," Yuuri said, shaking the nymph's hand warmly. "And I'll fly with you, tonight, love," he added to Wolfram.

"No fly with Wolfram," contradicted Salix. "Five'o'clock blow flute _here,"_ he pointed to a spot just left of Adelbert's territory. "Then sleep."

Though that would cover all the refugees needing water, Yuuri couldn't help but feel sad that he and Wolfram would go separate ways again so soon. Some of this must have shown on his face, because Wolfram bumped him with his hip, accompanied by gleaming green-eyed demon leer. "Don't worry, wimp. I'll be back and right there beside you, all day."

"We make sure they don't fall off dragon," Salix blandly assured Ted.

-oOo-

The nymph Salix's word was good, about controlling the Donza flow. When Gwendal received word that Winvale had to be abandoned, he brought up hoverships, his own warship and Manfred's pleasure boat, to act as hospital ships, and led Friedrich's relief workers and barges back upriver to Winvale. Yuuri's torrential rains swelled the waters. Desperate refugees trusted their fate to anything that would get them the hell out of the ash-blasted mountains quicker and dove in. By then, Gwendal had erected ropes for people to catch onto, and small boats anchored in mid stream with soldiers and sailors to fish Wincotts out to safety.

-oOo-

Some time after his forces were redeployed to help cover the retreat from Winvale, Adelbert von Gratz stared at his command line to General Ted von Trondheim in disbelief.

_TvT to AvG: Priority PR mission. Leave-behind healer Giesela __only__, __now__. Your worst position. Lady, Asst Marshall South, brave healer, ceremony, ham it up. Want Heroine of Wincott Rescue. Giesela's got the stuff. Romance angle too. Send off with a kiss. Full body contact._

_AvG to TvT: Punchline?_

_TvT to AvG: Giesela. __Heroine__. That's an __Order__, Bert._

"You son of a –" Adelbert muttered to the paper, then grudgingly swished the order away with a feather to acknowledge receipt. He briefly reminisced about what he'd ever done to Ted, like this. But their friendship stretched back to military training camp when he was 45, up through decades of Adelbert as Ted's commander. Like this crazy order? He'd probably done quite a lot to Ted, over the years, truth to tell. _Payback._

He sighed and gave orders to convene his _Public Relations_ circus. Then he found Greta for a private word first.

"Um, Greta... This is, that is to say... Well, I need to send Giesela off with a show, so... Don't mistake this for anything else, OK?"

Greta's big, trusting, liquid brown eyes blinked up at him. "Don't mistake... what?"

Adelbert cleared his throat awkwardly. "You'll see. I'm sending Giesela in deep, to walk out with the refugees. Make a show of it... Orders, from... _Ted."_

Greta's eyes widened. "Is it... safe? I mean, I thought Giesela would stay _here_, healing the refugees as they come in!" _And I put her up to coming! To try for you! But that was before you told me... But I didn't want her in danger! Oh, this is a mess._

"Giesela's got the stuff," Adelbert said gruffly, unconsciously echoing Ted. "This is a proof of concept, first healer in to be left behind. She's a battlefield healer, Greta, and most of our healers are civilians." He didn't meet her eye as he said it, though.

Retired Uncle Gorham von Gratz ran the field hospital setup here. Greta had gotten to know him. He did a long stint with the Trond army in the first phase of the Great Troll and Goblin War – between Trondheim and Suberia, before hostilities shifted to Krist, and Gratz perforce became neutral. Then Gorham held Chair of Healing at the Bielenfeld Institute during the centuries between Friedrich's and Manfred's tenure. In the field, where elderly Gorham would no longer go, Giesela was best qualified. But here, she'd rank a mere flunky under Gorham. She had more expertise with her sword than civilian medical training.

Greta bit her lip. Adelbert drew her with him to the front, facing the assembled in-camp relief forces, and the few refugees who'd trickled in so far. She stood as Princess Greta, to officially smile and encourage. To send her friend – whom she'd talked into this mess herself – send her off alone on a dragon's back, to be dropped with the most remote and desperate injured refugees, to walk back out, maybe a hundred miles over rugged mountain rangelands, with insufficient food and bad water. _Oh, Giesela..._

Giesela was the last to arrive, to take her place at the front of throng facing Greta and Adelbert. Clearly she'd already been told. Adelbert had made her orders clear in private. The assembly was for show. Her face was grim and determined. Gone was her tight, smart uniform pantsuit. Cropped canvas pants ended above shapely shins in rough woolen socks, over hobnailed hiking boots. Her petite frame bowed under a huge backpack. No sword this time. Her foes this time wouldn't be so easy.

"Everyone!" Adelbert boomed out beside Greta. "We've all seen the refugees in Wincott. Our quadrant is in the best shape."

This was untrue. Gregor von Dienst's station at Pfeffer Ridge was a milk run, compared to Adelbert's remote Wincott-Gratz back forty.

Adelbert continued, "So we've been selected for a pilot program for the next phase – bringing those people _home!"_

The Wincotts weren't going home. They were leaving home, and headed to overcrowded refugee camps, Shinou knew where. Greta forced herself to nod agreement anyway, flashing a fey and confident smile at the crowd.

"We're sending in one healer first, to prove out the concept. There's a refugee group 400 strong, 75 miles in. A mountain pass concentrated folk from sixty square miles of remote valleys. A rock slide got 'em in the pass. Over sixty injured, including some of the strongest men, the youngest children. They can't make it here without help. Some will die."

Greta read this one as unvarnished truth. Her heart quailed. She saw Giesela's fists spasm. But Greta held her confident fey smile. Giesela held her level gaze on Adelbert.

Adelbert continued, "So help they shall get! Fortunately, we have the _**best!**_ Sergeant Healer Lady Giesela von Krist, Assistant Marshall of the South!"

For a girl with such big titles, Giesela's ankles looked terribly frail in those clunky big boots, under a pack half again as big as she was. She clomped forward resolutely to stand before Adelbert, her bootnails aerating Big Tam Tamerlane's front lawn.

"_Sir!"_ Giesela belted out smartly.

"Bring 'em home, Sergeant Healer!" Adelbert boomed. "And Giesela –" His voice broke. It wasn't an act. The two went way back, after all. Giesela was to have stood by Susanna Julia at their wedding. "Take care of yourself. Shinou bless you, girl!"

Giesela nodded sharply and saluted. "Sir, yes sir! I'll make you proud, Sir!"

And Adelbert enveloped her in a bear hug. And kissed her – on both cheeks. As they broke off the clutch, Greta saw Giesela's eyes shining up into his.

_Sweet Shinou, she thinks it's worth it, to her,_ Greta thought.

As Giesela started to turn and clomp away to her dragon mount, Greta impulsively grabbed her, as a princessly prerogative. As she hugged her friend close, she whispered urgently in Giesela's ear, "_Tell him! That you love him! You can't leave without telling him!"_

Giesela gazed at her, stricken, and nodded. She turned back and flung her arms around Adelbert's neck. _"I love you! I've always loved you! I – I'll make you proud of me, Adelbert!"_ she whispered fiercely in his ear. Then she kissed him, a huge kiss, on the mouth.

Adelbert reared up in surprise, the way he always did, raising his chin way up and his eyebrows even farther, looking down at her in astonishment. Giesela's eyes shone up at him. His mouth dropped open, then closed. Then he gave in, and gave her another big hug. He murmured in her ear, "Already accomplished, Sarge – Giesela. I'm already proud of you. _Susanna Julia _ would be proud of you. Just come home safe. We – I – love you, too."

Greta thought she'd been subtle. She hadn't closed her options with Adelbert. But as he held Giesela tight, Adelbert's eye met Greta's, with a soft tender smile, of regret. He nodded to her in salute, conceding defeat.

_Wait. I didn't mean that,_ Greta thought. _Oh. Maybe I did._

_But Giesela couldn't leave without telling him. Not to face... that. It was the right thing to do._

Adelbert at last broke off the clutch. He peeled Giesela's huge backpack off her, and casually slung it over one huge shoulder, like a mere lady's handbag. Then he picked up Giesela in his arms as well, and carried her off to her dragon mount, to leap off into the sky. And Princess Greta led the crowd's cheers, eyes shining with emotion.

_Yeah. It was the right thing to do._

-oOo-

_Happy Mother's Day!_

_Please, please, __**please **__review? The long hiatus was due to discouragement. Very few reviews, several pretty negative, leave one wondering why one bothers..._

_FWIW, there are fragments of a manga about Friedrich's youth in Friedrich's entry on the character bios page (reachable from author's profile), featuring a moose hat rack. Writing with a keyboard is so much faster..._


	9. Wincott's End

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Aldrich, Adelbert, Giesela, Yuuram.

_AN: Thank you for all the __**reviews!**__ Chapter dedicated to new reviewer methos21. Thanks for playing about future stories!_

**Chapter 9 – Wincott's End**

_May 26th – two days later_

Manfred rested his forehead on one hand, and clasped Aldrich's hand with the other, in a pose of prayerful exhaustion. The comatose Aldrich had a tiny servant's room on the hospital floors of the castle, out of the desperate chaos, but still convenient for healers to visit. _The true healers, who can help him. Unlike me._ But even the true healers made little difference.

Alana held up a wall, looking inward. The valet Thomas stood near her, and Lord Howard the castellan. They'd stolen a few minutes after dinner to visit Aldrich. They'd soon return to their mountains of work, because here they simply couldn't do any good.

Aldrich drifted ever further out of reach. If he were anyone else, he'd be in the hospice wing, not receiving healer attention. There were too many ill, too few healers. In consideration for Wolfram's youth, Manfred had quietly asked Friedrich to direct the triage task, before Wolfram returned from Holy Oak. It should have fallen to the Lord of Public Health and Welfare, to decide the guidelines – who would receive help, who would be released still unwell, or sent downriver too weak to travel. Who would be left to die untreated. With his son Aldrich a prime candidate for the latter, it was a crushing task, despite even Friedrich's vast experience and maturity.

Friedrich himself had gone astray between the dining room and here, murmuring something about finding a better healer. _But there are no better healers._ There were _true_ healers. Aldrich's personal physician was a true healer, his colleague Professor Symbian. He'd tended Aldrich regularly, with little success. With Elliot and Kattrin von Wincott dead, there were no _potion_ healers better than Manfred and Friedrich. As for _fire_ healers, they were the best of the best.

The door opened, and Friedrich entered, followed by a subdued Garena. Friedrich took his place by Alana's side, with an arm around her waist. Despite being over a foot taller, the powerful woman gratefully slumped onto him.

Garena roused Manfred with a caress to his back. "Manfred," he said quietly, "Friedrich... asked me to try. I... You should know... I cannot heal him all the way. But Salix says that another can, in time. If he lives. I can make sure he lives. It will be hard on you, though."

Manfred stared up at him, in bafflement and pain. "...How?"

Garena looked away and shook his head. _No._

Friedrich elaborated. "Manfred, Garena can see the future. Not as far ahead as a nymph, but he can explore the immediate results of his actions. He doesn't have our experience, but he has the same healing talent. As for explaining... There are no verb tenses to explain why it can't be explained. Please, son. Let Garena try," Friedrich pleaded.

Manfred hung his head in surrender, and relinquished his chair to his natural father. Lord Howard and Thomas put arms around him as he joined them, squeezed along the tiny wall.

Manfred should have left the room. To stand and watch, while an untrained natural healer used undisciplined weird techniques on his beloved, was maddening. Manfred's fists pumped in aggravation.

Garena spent most of his time blank-faced, thinking. Then he reached out a hand, to Aldrich's head or heart, feet or groin, and unleashed a blast of blue-green-orange fire that looked more like Manfred's fire attacks than delicate healing. But each blast left Aldrich looking better. The slack gray skin firmed and cleared to the pink of health. Bruised sunken eyes smoothed. Labored rasping breath sighed into the even hush of peaceful sleep.

After a half hour, Garena sat back in the chair and contemplated his work. His blank expression gave way to profound sadness. He rose and took a place in the corner, as far from everyone else as the tiny chamber allowed.

Manfred rushed to Aldrich's side. Flaming fire healer tendrils erupted from both hands. He seemed to devour his husband with fire, to gauge his health. "Garena, this is...! _Sweet Shinou!_ Friedrich, even the brain plaque from his drinking years, it's gone!" Manfred's eyes shone to Garena's and Friedrich's. Friedrich's mouth was pursed, waiting. Garena remained sad and aloof.

Aldrich took a deep breath, and yawned with a giant _stretch._ A lifelong gymnast – even when missing a forearm – Aldrich's waking stretches were a wonder, like horizonal yoga. "Mm! Was I asleep?" he said, exotically curved green eyes blinking open in a shining happy smile. "Chichiue! Momi! Was I sick?"

Alana looked like she'd seen a ghost. Friedrich dragged reluctant feet to squeeze in by the bed opposite Manfred. He forced a reassuring smile, and held Aldrich's hand. "Hullo, Aldrich. How do you feel?"

"Mmm, good, Chichiue! I'm hungry!" And he giggled.

Manfred looked lost. But this Aldrich was quite familiar to Friedrich. "Do you remember what happened, honey?" he asked, with a caress to Aldrich's grey close-cropped hair.

"Mm-nn," returned Aldrich, with the exaggerated head-shake of a preschooler, the full-body _No._ "Could I have _pancakes?_ And _rubyfruit?_ I'm thirsty, too!" Ingenuous eyes opened wide, for all the world like a little boy wheedling a treat.

"I'm sorry, Manfred," Garena murmured from his self-imposed corner. "He's healthy. It's the best I could do."

Manfred strode decisively to his father-father, and threw his arms around Garena in a hug. "Thank you." Garena held him while he cried for a few moments.

"Why is he so sad, Chichiue?" Aldrich asked, wide-eyed. "Who is he? They look like you!"

"He's your husband, Aldrich – Manfred. And your uncle Garena."

Manfred pulled himself together and turned to Alana. Tears poured silently down her cheeks. "Lady Marshall Alana." He addressed her formally, with a bow. "In this emergency, I assume my husband's domain. I declare the population of Wincott now Bielenfeld citizens. And Weller... Indefinitely."

"Agreed," Alana whispered.

-oOo-

Adelbert wasn't there when the new orders came down. Ted had already sent him to check up on Giesela's _'pilot project'_. Guya'k'vriel, minding the maps, passed the orders to Lord Gorham von Gratz.

-oOo-

"Ah, it's been too long, since I've been up this way," said Adelbert, swinging a powerful leg up, to perch one boot up on a great shelf of Wincott grey granite. He leaned on his knee and admired the night vista above the refugee camp. Giesela took a seat beside him on the shelf. "Glorious rangeland!"

Giesela smiled, more at him than the view, not sharing the Gratz night vision. Although the kissing moons were up, near full, as well as the huge mountain stars. She could see the outlines of the vista, and had seen it by day, of course. It looked better at night, the thin dusting of ash invisible on the verdant summer pasture. _He belongs here. He's so cramped and awkward in a castle, sword tangling on doorframes and spindly chairs. Here he can throw his arms and legs around, and breathe. _"Been here before?" she inquired lightly.

"Eh, there are thousands of uplands like this. Each beautiful in its own way." He drank in the mountain air again in appreciation, then turned his attention to her. They'd come up here to speak privately, away from her teeming hospital and camp, and the laconic elf who'd flown him up here on the dragon Elspeth. Adelbert didn't speak dragonish himself.

"Business first," he sighed. "You haven't gotten far. And it looks more like a thousand than four hundred down there. How's it going?"

Giesela stiffened defensively. "Sir! I'm sorry, I -"

"Stop, Gies!" Adelbert interrupted with a chuckle. He leaned in to give her a friendly little pummel on the shoulder. "Wasn't criticizing, just _asking._ I know better than to second-guess the commander on the ground. Looks like a camp of a thousand, happy and in good order. Good pasture, too." He met her eye with his own smiling ones. "I know how to lead healers, Gies. Surrounded by 'em all my life. Just tell me what you're up against."

Giesela beamed up at him, her face warming in happiness. It was true, there was no better commander of healers than Adelbert. Oh, Gregor von Dienst and Ted von Trondheim _deployed _and _protected _ healers just fine. Their logistics were flawless. But their eyes glazed over on the fine points. Adelbert could tell a tincture from a tonic, mundane dysentery from bloody flux, and enjoy the shop talk.

"OK! Well, first day I planted my healer's flag up here, and people have been trickling in. Training orderlies. Planned to move yesterday, but a lot of 'em really shouldn't be moved, and nobody really wants to go. Thought water would be a problem, but we caught plenty for camp use from Yuuri's rains. And a centaur _deigned_ to visit once we sat pat." Her eyes rolled. "Says the streams are clearing out fast, and the groundwater is pure. There've been a lot more than a thousand refugees through here. Seems to be a main route to the Gratzport slaughterhouses." Adelbert nodded easy confirmation, _Yeah, this is the way,_ though it still looked like downtown nowhere to Giesela. "Anyway, most of them, hearing that, leave the ones who need healing or a rest, and rush back where they came from, to salvage their herds."

"Damn! That's _great,_ Gies! Where's this centaur now, by the way? Thought there weren't any more, until the treeborn."

Giesela shrugged. "I mentioned Lucy and the others in Trondheim. He just nodded as though he already knew that. Centaurs." She shook her head in disgust. "Can't tell 'em a thing. Apparently Friedrich and Cecilie knew he was here, and just respected his privacy or something. How he knows what's happening in Trondheim, I haven't a clue."

Adelbert snorted agreement. "That's great, though, that the ground water's good. Any wells? Springs?"

"Could use some," Giesela admitted.

Adelbert lazily held out a hand and used his earth majutsu to crack open a spring beside their rock shelf. "Have a spring."

"Thank you kindly," Giesela said with a grin.

"Not a problem." Adelbert grinned back. "Just sorry I didn't think of it before! So this area, maybe we should encourage 'em to go home. I'll send along some earthworkers to help with the water supply. It'd be _fantastic_ to save the herds up here, Gies, especially with the harvests short. And Shinou knows, these people aren't headed any _better_ place down below. So how's the medical situation?"

"The lion's share is exhaustion. Dehydration. Scared. There were the sixty really bad when I got here, like you said. Most of them are stable. Another twenty or so of the newcomers certainly aren't ready to start walking to Gratz again. None of 'em big on walking any further, really."

"Fetched along mountain rescue gear. Could take four back with me, if that wouldn't do more harm than good. Didn't want to mention it in public."

Giesela considered, then nodded slowly. "I'll take you up on that."

"Good! You tell 'em Aldrich's their new Lord?"

She had, but no one much cared. Winvale was a distant abstraction. They cashed out their cattle-drives down around Big Tam's, Winvale tax collectors in attendence. Well, some of the beasts were cattle anyways. Giesela wasn't familiar with all the local varieties of walking meat. The source of today's stew looked kind of like a giant armadillo. _Tastes like chicken._

The pair reviewed some more logistics, and pretty much settled on Giesela staying here until no one needed her anymore. Her model would work well for the eastern half of Adelbert's quadrant, at least. Less well for the more volcano-damaged western reaches.

_No flashy Heroine of the Wincott Rescue here, Ted, sorry,_ Adelbert thought. _Tough._ _She did better than that! _

After business wound down into expectant silence, Adelbert broached it. "So. Gies. Caught up in the spirit of the moment, or…?"

She blushed, and shook her head _No._

Before she could grope her way to reply, he opened with, "I've always liked you. Couldn't pay you too much mind, while you were my fiancée's protégé, of course. Sujie thought the world of you… Took me a long time, getting over Sujie. Since I've been back..." He shrugged. "Your father's not exactly a fan of mine. You were gone to Earth mostly. And Murata…?"

To most people, she would have tossed this off with a quip. But Adelbert - he'd actually _understand._ She hoped. She said gropingly, "He was so _different,_ you know? Exciting. He knew so much, came from a different _world. _That's why we become soldiers, isn't it? The adventure?"

Adelbert nodded, with a sad smile. Yes, he knew. Pirates and camp followers, pretty barmaids in Dai Cimarron, and other casual companions of the road. When you could die tomorrow, and weren't sure you cared. You took the companionship on offer, and delighted in how very, very far they were from _the girl next door._

"That attracts," Giesela continued, "but it doesn't bind, like they say. His world was fun, at first. But it was always _me,_ bending myself into a pretzel, to fit _him,_ never the other way round. When we got back, I resumed my _life_, my _career_. And he … Found something up in Trondheim, I dunno what. Aside from the centaur. He didn't want to work it out, compromise. And Chichiue, well. Before last week, I thought he'd _never_ accept me getting a divorce. But after that scene with Lucy in front of _Lord Krist, _oy! He told me before I left, maybe it was time to find _'my own kind'_." She snorted. "And I'm pretty sure cousin Krispin would grant a divorce in nothing flat."

Adelbert laughed. "He's had enough of his own, after all. What is it, three?"

"Yeah, this is his fourth marriage," Giesela agreed. Krispin Lord Krist had an even worse reputation than Manfred and Cecilie, and that took some doing!

"And… Greta?" Giesela prompted, timorously.

Adelbert answered slowly, thinking it through while he spoke. "I think she's in love with Robichaud. _That's_ a good match. Could do a hell of a lot of good for Shin Makoku. And… marrying her own kind. And mine. Makes sense. I do love her. But if '_Chichibert' _ is all I can be to her, I guess I'll take it. She, ah, seemed awful quick to encourage _you_ to go after me?"

"Yeah, well. You know us women, always colluding behind your backs."

Adelbert laughed out loud. "We men often suspect it."

"I think you just caught her by surprise. She'd already fetched me along, and then you blindsided her, telling her you were in love with her. She wasn't expecting that. She was tempted. Who wouldn't be! You're so - ! But. Yeah. I think she'll be really hurt, if Robichaud doesn't ask her."

"Well. I wasn't really ready to settle down in a castle, anyway," Adelbert said, philosophically. He brushed Giesela's cheek with the back of a finger. "You?"

Giesela grinned up at him. "_Love_ being a soldier again! Castles are alright, when you're posted in 'em. Beds are comfy."

Adelbert grinned back. "Bet this field has those sharp little rocks under the grass."

"But you'd be a gentleman, and let me be on top," she challenged him.

His eyebrows flew high, and he whistled. "You're on, Sergeant!"

-oOo-

Manfred didn't work the hospital that night. As the Wincott refugees poured in, there were too many decisions to be made as Lord Bielenfeld, providing for his new subjects. And the children… _Maybe I should send Diet and Trent back to Brendan and Hilde… And maybe Efram to Dionne, as well? No, the heir stays here. Poor kid. _

_Poor me? Don't go there. The next right step, one at a time. Don't stop,_

Aldrich was back in their bed, languorously doing before-bed stretches in a sleeveless summer nightshirt, soft blue cambric as always. Torch and candlelight played in the night breeze, showing off his musculature, still lean from illness, but beautiful. Garena's magic even restored his ancient Aristocrat seal tattoos, as though brand new, ten-legged Trond ourobouros lizard ringing the right biceps and triceps, the later Bielenfeld phoenix emblazoned on the left.

Manfred, disrobing for bed, glanced at his own old blurry phoenix tattoo in the mirror, needled in babyhood. _I should ask Wolfram where he got his tattoo done, for Efram. When he's in a good mood._

Aldrich finished stretching, and watched Manfred undress, with wide happy eyes. "You're so _pretty,_ Manfred! I want to play!"

Manfred shrugged on his nightshirt. "It's time to go to bed, honey."

"Yeah! Let's play in bed!" The bigger man dragged Manfred on top of himself. "I want to play _sex_ with you!"

_"What."_

With a fluid motion, Aldrich pulled off his own nightshirt, then Manfred's. "I feel _good._ Let's play _sex!_ You're my husband, right?"

"Ah - !"

Manfred tried to object, at first. But the childlike Aldrich paid no attention, and bent to his play whole-heartedly. Clear strong fire healer tendrils danced across Manfred's belly, and fingered exciting places, as Aldrich proceeded to _'make seeds'._

The sex was surprisingly good. Manfred tended to the more… _adventurous…_ in bed, but Aldrich didn't lean that way. It was one of those things that gave the two men pause, when thinking of marriage. Manfred was up for all kinds of bondage and whip games, variations and whatnot. Whereas Aldrich believed in _love-making_ only. Well, these days at least. Manfred suspected the all-time record Castletown Hunkalicious title holder had been rather more… _open-minded…_ in his youth. But ever since they'd been lovers, Aldrich's tastes were as pure and childlike as those of this new changeling. Well, compared to Manfred's Cecilie-trained tastes, at least.

Manfred lay back spent, and a little shocky. _Am I pleased to have my husband back? Or do I feel like a child molester? Both, I guess. _

Fully satisfied, trusting and cuddly, Aldrich simply fell asleep.

-oOo-

_May 27th – the next day_

Yuuri and Wolfram headed down the long road to Castletown, with the second caravan of Wincott refugees from Ted's command at Holy Oak. They would have gone with the first group, but it left at dawn, and they both needed the sleep. The main road was cleared, by brute force of Ted's legions, but not so well that they could take off their ash masks. Off the road, there were traces of earlier digging to find survivors, abandoned now. The inhabitants were found, or they were dead. Restoring these plantations to life would wait on Robichaud's heavy equipment. The press gangs from Castletown's burgeoning shantytowns worked elsewhere, where the ash lay thinner, and the dint of muscle and commoner's majutsu might accomplish something.

"Eh, Wolfram," Yuuri ventured. "Spetz plantation. What was it like?"

"I've never even _met_ anyone from Spetz, Yuuri," Wolfram replied regretfully. "Well, probably Squire von Spetz at conference, but I don't recall him. I mostly stayed with Chichiue when I visited, and he didn't travel well with the bad leg."

"When it's all green again," promised Yuuri. "We should come see more of Bielenfeld."

Wolfram nodded abstractedly. The promise failed to get the hero's smile of gratitude that Yuuri was shooting for. With every mile they rode, their happy comraderie of action on dragonback, seemed to dissipate into the ash and dust. Time was, time past.

Yuuri didn't give up. "Eh, Wolfram. It was good, being in the field with you again! It felt like…" _Like I was a teenager again, off on a madcap adventure, with you supplying the brakes! _"Like before…" _Like before we got married. _"Like during our long engagement. Let's hope Greta's is less eventful, huh?" he quipped.

"Yes. By all means. May her betrothal be dull," returned Wolfram sourly, then repented. "Sorry, Yuuri, I just…" He shrugged his shoulders.

"What do you think of Robichaud?"

Wolfram roused from his quiet slump to shift around on his horse uncomfortably. "We're not going to deal with that now, Yuuri! Greta's best prospects didn't come because the ball was cancelled. _None_ of the current candidates are _my_ choices."

"Oh? Who invited Robichaud?"

Wolfram rolled his eyes. "There was a mixup. Maybe Robichaud was on one of Evil Günter's old lists. I don't know! But he's too old, and too far away, and allied with _Dai Cimarron_."

"He's pretty impressive. As a king," Yuuri differed.

"I can't deal with this now, Yuuri!"

_Yeah. That's clear. _"Any chance you're coming back to Blood Pledge with me?"

Wolfram shook his head soundlessly.

"I understand. You're needed here. Really needed. Your life's work, for now. I'm… proud of you, Wolfram. You're really living up to the best in yourself."

"Thank you," Wolfram murmured quietly.

"Just come home to me soon, eh, Wolfram?" pleaded Yuuri. "And the kids?"

Wolfram nodded without meeting his eye. Yuuri gave up, and let the conversation lapse.

-oOo-

It was nearly noon by the time Adelbert flew in at Big Tam's, with four dragon-stretchers full. Despite being a little short on sleep, having talked and made love with Giesela nearly til dawn under the kissing moons, he was in a grand mood. The best mood he'd been in for years, truth to tell. Leaving Giesela was a bit hard, but he hoped to head back and check up on her. As often as he could get away, actually…

An entire caravan looked set to depart, a column sitting down waiting on the cattle trail that passed for a road hereabouts. "What the hell?" he asked the medics who came to offload his stretchers.

"Humans heading out," the medic supplied. "Lord Gorham was just waiting on you. Thought you'd be here sooner -" His words fell behind, as Adelbert's angry long strides headed for the command center on Big Tam's dining table.

"What the _hell_, Gorham? Why are you sending off the humans?"

"Mornin' to you, too, _Neffie._" Gorham - actually a great-uncle - was every inch a von Gratz, and stoutly gave as good as he got. "Orders from on high. Wincott's dissolved. The Mazoku are now citizens of Bielenfeld. Humans go on to Weller. Weller's sending launches up the Pemunder to ferry 'em down to Lutenberg and points south. Mazoku transport later."

"Like _hell!_ These people are _sick_ and _tired!_ They need to rest!"

Gorham glowered at him. "Well, let me think. Yes, _I_ triaged them! The ones on the road are the ones in the best shape." He shrugged. "The rest, get to rest longer. Look, Bert, we aren't supplied to keep 'em here indefinitely. Somebody had to leave first. Be glad _your_ folk have somewhere to go!"

"_My_ folk. Unlike Gratz, you mean."

"Have whatever hair up your butt you please, Bert. They go first. By order of their new Lord. I figured the Princess'd go with 'em. And they've been waiting for _you_ long enough. Suggest you go say good-bye and let 'em get on with it."

In fury, Adelbert edstomp off toward the head of the exhausted, ragged troop. Guya caught sight of him, obviously storming, and intercepted. "Hey, hey, Bert! Boyfriend, you _cannot_ go address those people looking like _that!"_

Greta'd caught sight of him, too, and was marching toward them. She didn't look inclined to cool him off, though. Quite the opposite.

"What business is it of yours, Trond?" Adelbert fumed.

"Hey, friendly team-mate here!" Guya protested, hands held wide. "Scared dejected refugees over there! Ya gotta lead with your _happy_ face, man!" Adelbert tried to push past her. But Guya was top elven troubleshooter of Trondheim, and tough as nails. She just kept in his face, poking at him, with an aggressive smile. "You got a bitch, leave it here with me! I _loove_ hearing people bitch. Those people over there, though? They just don't need it today."

"Alright, you want to hear my bitch? _Manfred._ Racist _prick!"_

"And _Conrad,"_ Greta spat out, joining them. "And _Brendan. _Did you realize _Brendan_ has offered _Mazoku_ the hospitality of Gratz for two weeks? All Gratzfolk encouraged to take in Wincott Mazoku for up to two weeks! But humans? Immediate exile!"

This stoked Adelbert's rage. It took some fancy footwork and really insulting pokes for Guya to grab his attention again. "Hey, hey, people? Like, _so?_ So what? Hey? All looks good to me! Mazoku refugees to the Mazoku domain, humans to the human domain, makes perfect sense. Somebody has to go first, and the humans have the farthest to travel. Better destination, too, I bet. I hear Castletown is overflowing."

"It _would_ make sense to you, _Trond!"_ hissed Adelbert.

Guya shrugged affably. "Meaning?"

"You Tronds segregate races too!" Adelbert retorted.

Guya shrugged. "I can go wherever I want in Trondheim, and so can everyone else. So can _they_." She indicated the human column on the road with a nod of her head. "But I live where elves are welcome, and not where they're not. It's _voluntary,_ Adelbert. You're saying it from the outside, like people are forced _away._ From the inside, people stick _together,_ with their _own_ kind, for support. Because they like to."

This sounded so reasonable. Somehow it didn't calm Greta's anger, so much as turn it to ice. _It's pushing away, too, Guya. Pushing humans to the outside. You're making us Them. Not-us._ "And Conrad authorized this plan?"

Adelbert shot her an uncomfortable frown. Conrad was his liege lord. Conrad had sent him here to _protect_ the humans coming out of Wincott, to safeguard their best interests. With Greta by his side, to help.

Guya continued, "Look, Adelbert, if you'd been here, you could have argued the orders when they came down. Not now, though. Transport's already on the Pemunder, and those people are ready to march. Greta, you're expected to lead the first wave to their new life in Lutenberg. And you're _both_ supposed to _welcome_ them to the Weller domain! Can you do that? Get your hearts into it, and _really_ do that? 'Cause if you can't, you should let Gorham and me send 'em off instead. Can you _see _that, please? That you're _hurting_ these people if you burden them with your anger? Make them feel like unwanted castoffs? Rather than welcome new family? Please."

It took a while. The dejected human Wincotts looked mighty bored sitting on the road. But Guya did gradually wind Adelbert and Greta down. Not to the point where they _agreed_ with the orders - they were both still pissed as hell at Manfred and Conrad. But to the point where they could do their duty and lead. Guya didn't quite trust them, and added her own infectiously hammy Trond flair to the sendoff, by their side. As the column headed off, Adelbert walked a ways with Greta at the lead. Guya stayed put, spreading jokes and cheer as the humans walked by her, and boffing shoulders with everyone she could reach.

After the whole column was underway, Adelbert pulled Greta to the side to talk. It was awkward, saying their private pieces, alternated with trying to smile and wave at the refugees. "Welcome to Weller! You'll love it in Lutenberg!"

_No they won't,_ the cold anger in Greta's heart said. _They're herders from the wild ranges, not townsfolk._

"People will welcome you there!"

_Grandma Phoebe will open a new factory for you to work in, in the human ghetto. __**Wolfram's**__ Grandma Phoebe. No kin of mine._

"Greta, I… Giesela and I had a long, um, talk, and…"

"Oh, good."

"This isn't how I would've wanted to say it."

"No."

"But I'm… going to withdraw my proposal. To you."

"Yes, I see. I mean, congratulations. I'm glad for you both." There was no gladness in Greta just then.

"Greta… I care, I mean -" Adelbert broke off abruptly, and said, "Hey, who's that? Greta, he looks just like you! Hey, you! With the brown skin! Come here!"

Greta looked in astonishment. In all her time in Shin Makoku, and the few times she'd traveled beyond with her adoptive parents, she'd _never_ seen another human with brown skin and red-brown curls like hers. But there he was, alone, a gangly boy, maybe seventeen or so.

He looked just like her. Right down to the… _tattoo._

-oOo-

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews fuel more chapters / stories. Honest!_


	10. Shibbel

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Greta's… brother?

_AN: Thanks to DemiDaemon and methos21 for the __**reviews!**_

_Sorry, kind of a half-chapter again, but the Candidate Conrad half isn't quite gelling yet._

**Chapter 10 – Shibbel**

_still May 26th _

Just like his hair and skin color, Greta could see that the boy's tattoo also matched hers, because the teen was practically in rags. Feet bare, loose much-patched pants cropped at the shin without hemming, belted with rope, topped with a cap-sleeved suede jerkin. He'd taken the opportunity to bathe at the refugee camp, but nothing would remove the clothing stains. His curls were cropped much the way Greta wore hers as a child. He had an oversized water skin and sandals slung across his chest. A bucknife, spork, slingshot, and small pans dangled from his rope belt. _All he has left._

"Where ya from, boy?" Adelbert demanded.

"Uh, _Wincott,"_ the teen said. The _D'uh_ at the end of the sentence was only implied.

Adelbert grinned crookedly. Surly adolescent boys were the stuff his armies were made of. "Yah, I got that part. Could you be more specific?"

With monosyllabic responses, half the refugee column passed by as Adelbert strove to pry information out of Shibbel, as he named himself. The goatherd's winter home was closer to Holy Oak than Big Tam's. Home wasn't a named town, but rather a remote log cabin at lower elevation. The disaster caught him with his goats up in summer pasture. With his usual route blocked and ash fouling the forage, Shibbel made for the Gratz cattle-drive trail instead.

Adelbert didn't get very far with him. But Greta was glad of the expert assist in questioning him. For instance, young Shibbel's explanation of how he came by his own herd of silk-goats, sounded like theft to Greta. But Adelbert found nothing untoward in Shibbel's account of himself. He was an orphan, fostered by an old childless faun. She died when he was 11. He'd been on his own since then, at first herding the angora rabbits she left him, then shifting to the more flexible and lucrative goats. The foster faun _'found'_ him near Suberia as a baby. Yeah, he'd always had the tattoo.

By then, Gorham and Guya were growing insistent that Adelbert get back to camp and resume that _command thing_ he was supposed to be doing. "Yah, yah, just a minute," he waved them off again. But he bade Shibbel rejoin the march, and drew Greta aside.

Shibbel couldn't exactly merge back into the throng as though nothing had happened. The other refugees stole glances back and forth between the boy and the look-alike princess, and gave him the cold shoulder. But Shibbel was used to solitude. He kept his head down and trudged.

"You can get more out of him along the way," Adelbert said. "He'll tell you when he trusts you. But, Greta…" Adelbert put hands on her shoulders and held her eye searchingly, in his most paternal way. "If it turns out… Hell, maybe he _is_ your long-lost little brother. I just want you to remember… That doesn't change who _you_ are, you know? My father, when he found out he was adopted – _'really Trond'_ –" Adelbert shook his head in disgust. "He wasn't _'really Trond'._ He was _really_ Adeldan Lord Gratz. And he _really_ screwed up his life and ours by forgetting it! Don't fall for that _'really'_ crap, OK? Maybe you've got questions. Maybe he's got answers. But you're _really _still our Greta, same as yesterday. Remember that for me, OK?"

Greta nodded up at him gratefully. _At my Chichibert. What a strange way to end this. When we came here, he told me he wanted to marry me, because he loved me. But – I'm glad to have my Chichibert, now. _They parted with a hug and a nod of understanding. _I'm Princess Shibuya Greta. Even if Shibbel is my brother, and my brother is a… goatherd._

_Neither of us started out that way. Who were we?_

-oOo-

When Greta was 13 or so, Conrad and Adelbert had tried to determine where she'd come from, who her natural parents were. She hadn't been very cooperative. She insisted it didn't matter who _misplaced_ her, Yuuri was _really _ her father _now._ And her memory of her childhood was especially poor. Because she didn't like to remember her life back in Suberia, with her _'grandparents'._

But they coaxed her enough and jogged her intentionally abandoned memories, to glean a little. She remembered a blonde girl who she thought was her mother. But the _'grandparents'_ bossed her around and were mean to her. So the blonde ran way, and left Greta behind. Greta might have been 5 or 6 then. It was hard to tell. There were no birthday parties to remember the passage of time by. There were no adults to remind her of benchmarks in time. Nobody there was kind to her, save Gegen Huber in his cell.

Hube knew where he'd been held. Upon investigation, the _'grandparents'_ were found to have fled not long after Greta and Hube were discovered. Suberian Syndicate, of course. Extracting information from the neighbors wasn't easy. The crime syndicate was more powerful than the legitimate authorities, in Suberia. As best Conrad could determine, the household had arrived with a small brown-skinned girl about a year before a fair-skinned blonde left. If anyone knew where the _'grandparents'_ went, their lives depended on not telling. Nobody mentioned a brown-skinned baby. But then, people weren't exactly forthcoming, either. And Conrad and Adelbert hadn't known to ask.

They were left with next to nothing to go on. Except the tattoo. Fair-skinned blondes were hardly rare. But for one to have a brown-skinned daughter, there must have been a very dark-skinned father. The tattoo did look like a Shin Makoku Aristocrat's heir seal, to a foreign eye. But there were a very small set of those seals, well known to the Aristocrats. Greta's elegant device wasn't one of them. It certainly wasn't Suberian – their preschool art style was distinctive. Given time and diligence, they might have gotten somewhere with these leads.

But Greta was upset every time the subject came up. So Yuuri told them to let it rest.

-oOo-

Greta had hoped Shibbel would come join her at the front of the column, to talk more. _I should have known better,_ she reflected. Most of her experience with adolescent boys came from the effervescent Efram. _He_ would have bounced up and down the line all day. _Shibbel's not like that…_ _He's not even used to people._ Some princesses might find that hard to imagine. Not Greta. She'd never been to a party, before she tried to assassinate a demon king. Who bizarrely turned out to be a very nice guy, and adopted her for it. Her life had been wonderful ever since. But she remembered, much as she wanted to forget. She remembered being so alone and unwanted, that a prisoner in a dark dungeon was the light of her life.

When they halted to rest in mid-afternoon, she sought him out again. "Shibbel… I wanted to ask, do you know anything more, about how you came to Wincott?"

"Mn," replied Shibbel.

She tried another tack. "I came here from Suberia. When I was nine."

This earned his grudging attention, if no comment.

"The people I lived with – criminals – I was supposed to call my grandparents. But I don't think they were, really. They sent me here to assassinate Yuuri Maou –"

Now that was interesting. "How were you gonna kill him?"

_Boys…_ "Um, a knife," Greta replied, disconcerted. "I'm good with knives. _Anyway._ I have this tattoo." She bared her right shoulder to show him. Nearby Wincotts muttered and moved away. "Like yours. And, well, you look like me. That's why Lord Adelbert and I were quizzing you, earlier. Nobody else… looks like us."

Shibbel hadn't wondered – that was obvious. He studied her tattoo with interest, though.

"Did your foster faun – what did you call her? Fafa?"

"Mm." Shibbel's neck was craned sideways to peer at his own shoulder.

"Did Fafa tell you any more? Like, _how_ she got you in Suberia?"

Shibbel seemed to decide that she'd earned something back in trade. "There was a whore," he said. "Lara. They told her to kill the baby – me. But she said she was a _whore_, not a murderer. So she ran away. Toward Wincott. But she twisted her ankle. Fafa found her – us. Lara said I needed to stay hidden, or they'd find out, and come kill me."

Greta's mind was reeling. Now that he mentioned it, she did remember calling the blonde _Lara,_ not _Mama._ _A whore? _"Did Lara say _why?_ Why they wanted you dead?"

"No."

"Where did Lara go? Is she still in Wincott?"

"Come fall, when we come down from summer pasture, Lara left with the cattle drive. Fafa got nervous about what she said. She moved us farther inside Wincott, so Lara couldn't find us again if she wanted to."

"Do you remember anything more about Lara?"

"I was a baby. I don't remember anything. Just what Fafa told me."

_Indeed. What more could there be to ask, then?_ "Anything about the tattoo?" _No._ "Where Lara was from?" _No._ "Did Fafa name you Shibbel?"

"Oh. No. There was that. Lara said my name was Shibbel. Fauns believe it's very, _very_ bad to ever go by a false name. So I told Fafa, who's to say Lara didn't lie? She sure didn't want me to be found. But Fafa said Lara was with her a couple months. Fafa insisted she'd'a known, if it was a _false_ name." Shibbel shrugged. "So Fafa thought my _true_ name, was Shibbel. Hers was Tollerie, by the way. _'Fafa'_ was like _'Mama'._"

"What did you do, after Fafa died?"

"Buried her." Shibbel stood abruptly. That interview was over.

-oOo-

Greta saw red again when they passed through a town around supper-time. The mayor came out and asked the troop escort how many Mazoku they had. When the troopers replied they were humans in this group, the mayor waved them on. Gorham already told them not to stop there for the night, but rather continue to the banks of the Pemunder River a few miles on. He didn't mention why, at least not in front of her.

"Look sharp, men!" the commander exhorted his troops as they left town. "People! Bunch up, stick close together! Don't wander off!" Several of the troopers jogged down the column, dressing the lines and compacting the refugees, who naturally tended to spread out.

"Why, commander?" Greta asked in concern.

He shook his head. "Didn't care for that mayor's attitude, Ma'am. Not a good section of Gratz. Big Tam keeps his neighborhood clean. That's why folk do business there, money and taxes changing hands and all. But we're out of Big Tam's say-so now. And another 15 miles til the Pemunder's navigable."

"Surely no one would attack a group of 800 refugees!"

"Good reason to stick together," he commented. "_Hey! Hey, you there! _Trooper, go see what they're up to."

A couple of local women in shawls – fellow humans, they said – had offered hospitality to a particularly weary Wincott refugee family. When the lines compacted, it was clear the exhausted Wincotts were following them away from the group, just about to disappear behind the crest of a rise. The trooper headed toward them at a trot. Then a scream of outrage echoed back from the hill. The newly-dressed lines of the refugee column broke apart apart, more troopers and fellow refugees heading for the rise, some refugees running away from the ruckus, a lot in the middle undecided.

"Hells!"swore the commander. _"STICK TOGETHER, PEOPLE! WINCOTTS! ALL BACK TO THE ROAD, DAMMIT!"_

But already, mounted bandits were swooping down on some of the refugees who'd run away. The commander himself was on horseback, for mobility and visibility. With none of his troopers close enough, he himself wheeled off to take after a bandit. The rogue had caught a refugee under the arms and was dragging him along.

Greta found it maddening. But her job was to lead, and she was, after all, on the exposed front of the line. She encouraged everyone near her to bunch up, stay in line, the bandits couldn't get at them so long as they _stuck together!_ She didn't know that it was true. The commander only had about 20 troopers for escort duty, and most of them were minding the pack train. The bandits seemed to have the troopers outnumbered, and they were on horseback.

Behind her came a _THUNK!_ She spun to find a buckknife stuck in the grass not a foot away from her, still quivering. _"Prove it, Princess!"_ yelled Shibbel. The youth already had a stone swinging in his sling and a handful more to keep feeding in. He fired three stones in rapid succession, and a bandit peeled off in retreat, clutching a bleeding eye.

_Alright. I think I will!_ thought Greta. She took careful aim, threw, and a bandit fell off his horse, the buckknife sticking out of his throat. More knives clattered at her feet, courtesy of grinning women. More herders' slingshots started humming. Skilled herd-dogs ran and nipped at refugees who tried to break ranks. Another knife from Greta, and an unknown number of stones, took down another bandit closing on a Wincott teenage couple, as they tried to run back to the lines.

Within minutes, it was over. About half the bandits escaped. The rest were rounded up, tied up, and dragged along as prisoners.

Greta didn't complain about their itinerary again. The refugees stuck together and marched to the bank of the Pemunder, where Gorham had ordered them to spend the night. They set camp with the whitewater river guarding one flank, at the top of a nice friendly steep bluff that guarded another side. There, the twenty troops could keep the whole 800 guarded fairly well.

Greta sought out Shibbel at his dinner campfire, and gave him back his retrieved buckknife.

"You _are_ good with knives," he allowed.

"You're good with that sling!" She plopped down next to him with her stew tureen. Its brand-new angled-tin handle was shiny but awkward, and cut into her hand. Shibbel's was battered and rounded and fit his hand like a glove. She shook her head. "What kind of people would attack _refugees?_"

_"Stupid_ people," opined Shibbel, "to attack _herders._ Only ones as broke from the group were townies, and they ain't got nothing. Us herders cashed out. But shit, a _bandit_ ain't got nothing on a _mountain lion!_ Who'd they think they were screwin' with?"

Another herder at the campfire – inspired to atypical chattiness by the day's excitement – joined in. Soon the group of herders were topping each others' tall tales of the worst attacks on their flocks. Shibbel was quieter than most, but they included him. It was the most social Greta had seen him yet.

When Shibbel didn't seem too interested in a speaker's story, Greta asked him, "What did you mean by, _'us herders cashed out'?_"

"Before we come in to Big Tam's, up the road, any as still had their herds, like us, we cashed out. Couldn't bring the stock into camp. Gratz bought 'em, same price as last year minus the tax. Ain't never sold my _whole_ herd before. Never _seen_ so much money!" Greta hadn't realized before that shabby Shibbel and his supper club were the relative _rich_ of the refugee column.

"Price shoulda been higher, supply and demand," opined a grimey girl who looked about Greta's age. A few minutes ago, she'd claimed to take down a mammoth single-handedly to protect her alpacas. Greta suspected she might be sweet on Shibbel. "Food's gonna be scarce. Meat shoulda been dearer."

This unleashed a whole new torrent of economic opinion. Shibbel didn't seem to care, so Greta asked, "Is it much? The money you got for your goats?"

"They were good goats!" he burst out, offended.

Greta spent several minutes backpedaling, to assure him that no, of course she hadn't meant to disparage his goats. And yes of course, goat milk, cheese, meat, and silk were valuable and important commodities. And yes, his goats sounded like wonderful companions, and she regretted that she hadn't made their acquaintance. Eventually, he relented and told her how much money he got for the 300 goats that remained by the time he reached Gratz.

It was slightly more than the price of her gown for the marriage ball.

In her silence, she noticed after a few moments that the rest of the campfire gang had fallen silent, too. She looked up. They stared at her, faces hard and impassive as Wincott granite. They'd overheard her conversation with Shibbel. And suddenly, she was a Princess again to them.

"Is it much?" queried the grimey economist of the alpacas. "They say it's expensive, in town." _Our herds, everything we had, converted to more money than we've ever seen. Is it worthless? Is it nothing, in Lutenberg?_

Greta had no idea. She'd never had to support herself, buy her own food. She'd only gone shopping for fun, and then only for trinkets. Serious money like her ballgown went on _'the books'_. Gwendal was in charge of _'the books'_. Maybe. What her dressmakers earned or spent to live in Blood Pledge town, she hadn't a clue. "I… think so."

The troop commander – who had not been pleased to hear Shibbel chucked a knife at the Princess – had positioned a trooper at the next campfire, to keep an eye and ear on her. At this ugly change of vibe, the trooper came over and inserted himself next to Greta. "How much again? Oh, hell, yeah, that's good money! Before I joined up, I worked the cattle drive and the slaughterhouses. That woulda been two years' wages. And you won't need it, much. Weller's gonna provide food and housing until you get jobs. Food might be short. Housing'll be cramped," he allowed. "But they'll do their best."

"They will," Greta confirmed. "Uncle Conrad'll do his best to take care of you. I'm sure of it." She wasn't really aware that this contradicted what she was thinking earlier, when she was so mad. Nor that she was calling her would-be suitor _'Uncle'_ again. She simply fell back into her Princess role by habit. The gracious yes-girl.

The trooper noticed Shibbel shrinking away from her. He asked companionably, "Whaddaya think y'all might do, in town?"

The herders slumped.

"Eh, don't worry," he continued. "Just keep your eyes open, and think about it. And be real glad you got the money from selling your herds, huh? Not many Wincotts so lucky. Don't spend it quick. Might have to last, hey? So… Your Highness. Commander asked me to see you safe to your tent before I turn in. Would that be convenient now?"

She went to her tent. But after a day like that, her head spun too much for sleep. She looked at familiar things like her modest tent and cot, and they stared back with new meaning. How much did it cost? What did they think of her, out there, when she, the _Princess,_ got this comfortable bed, while they lay down on the grass without bedrolls? How many goats' taxes amounted to the price of her ballgown? If it had been her rather than Shibbel, left with a faun rabbit herder, would she have fared as well? As her… brother? _Is he my brother? If so…_ Chichibert's words came back to her often, when her thoughts spun that way. _Even so, I'm still Princess Greta…_

_And who wanted to kill him? And __**why?**__Where did we come from, if Lara wasn't our mother?_ For herself, no, she hadn't wanted to know. Because she was so grateful for what she _had_, with Yuuri and Wolfram and her Shin Makoku family. She'd had it bad in Suberia. Now she had it good, and she was devoted to her _'real'_ family, the ones she was with. But somehow, this maybe-brother altered the equation. That past she'd felt well shut of, was the past that tied them together. _Frieda and Bertram and Efram and Ekaterin are my 'real' brothers and sisters._ But that didn't work, at an emotional level. The more she believed Shibbel was her brother, the more she wanted that tie. _Because he's more like me than they are. That can't be. Is it?_

The kissing moons were well up before she finally slept.

-oOo-

_May 27th - the next day_

"Goatherd, huh? Great cover," Yozak drawled in professional evaluation. "Prefer _sheep_ myself of course. So _woolly._" He wriggled his shoulders in faux titillation in his strapless evening gown. It was before noon, not evening, and his combat boots were perched on Conrad's desk in Lutenberg. "Inherently anonymous. No family, no neighbors, no colleagues. Didn't even have the _goats_ anymore."

Conrad nodded thoughtfully. "But who? Why? Not all that easy a cover, either. Brown skin, red hair, matching tattoo. Adelbert would've spotted fake skin color or a fresh tattoo, but he bought it. Pretty elaborate lie, really." That was key in undercover work – keep it simple, stupid.

Yozak shrugged. "Tell me who, I'll tell you why. Tell me why, I'll tell you who. Dai Cimarron to scotch an alliance with Adreschulde? That's worth something, but the timeframes don't seem to mesh. Syndicate, hmm, fishing for fire healers? Valuable, if hard to handle. Or, trying to cover up whatever they _thought_ they were doing with Greta, the first go round. Hm. That one might be more interesting backwards. The goat-boy is legit, and the Syndicate needed him hidden to cover… something. But now he's accidentally not hidden?"

Conrad considered. "Lot of coincidences piling around Greta looking for a husband."

Yozak shot him a sharp glance. "Yes, well, you know what Manfred says, accidents tend to pile up around Yuuri. And _marriage_ seems especially loaded around him."

"Coincidences are a sign of Shinou at work," Conrad suggested.

"Shinou's breaking crayons and yanking on pigtails. Can't say I miss him. I prefer his successor's attitude. Garena doesn't interfere unless _invited._" Conrad frowned at the sacrilege. Yozak buffed his fingernails unrepentant. "But I take your point. The coinkydinks point to something _big._ Hell if I know what, though. Or what any of it has to do with Princess Vapid."

Conrad scowled at him. "Didn't I send you to Dai Cimarron to keep an eye on King Edvar?"

"Instead of here, interfering with your proposal to Greta? I delegated. Didn't think I'd leave you alone with her virgin feminine wiles, did you? If you're going to fall into monogamous bliss with her, you're going to have to fuck with me first, honey." Conrad declined to rise to the bait. They'd had all this out before. "Edvar's not going to cross Robichaud."

"Agreed," said Conrad. "But that story has holes in it big as the Arrhian Sea. Came here for a marriage ball? His _great-grandfather_ promised Bielenfeld aid, so lucky he's here to deliver? Who'd do _that?_"

"Or then again, maybe you're just _jealous,_ honey. Afraid of the competition for Greta's trusting little hand?"

They glared at each other. Yozak gave in first. "Alright. You're right, that story doesn't make sense. But still, my plants are good and reporting regularly. Robichaud appears to be doing what he said he'd do. Edvar appears to be properly cheesed at him. No loose threads to yank on, yet."

"Except perhaps a goatherd. We'll check it out."

-oOo-

Castle Bielenfeld was a mad-house, and Yuuri always put people ahead of paperwork. The people problems were compelling. Wolfram was hectically busy. But Manfred for once seemed grateful for Yuuri's company, in his office, calming work delegations, hanging with the kids, coloring with Aldrich… Yuuri'd been there most of the day before he finally read his note from Adelbert, though his mail arrived much quicker than Conrad's.

His habitual reaction was to seek out Wolfram. _Wolfram's better with the kids._ But perhaps that wasn't always true. _Greta's my daughter, not his._ Oh, Wolfram _intended_ to adopt her, too, after their marriage. But that required Aldrich's signature, and Aldrich didn't want to approve it. Aldrich was _diabolically _difficult to argue with. _What's wrong with being her stepfather?_ he inquired sweetly, Wolfram's… stepfather.

_Besides,_ thought Yuuri, considering how the _'marriage ball'_ thing had gone thus far, _Wolfram's not_ always _the better parent. Some things… I'm better at._ Wolfram would see this birth-family thing as an issue of honor and loyalty. He'd bristle like a porcupine, and sparks would fly if the _'real'_ word came up. _No. This isn't about loyalty. It's about identity. Adopted kids wonder about their birth families. Most are a terrible let-down. Wolfram might make it worse. Besides, he's needed here._

Yuuri quietly made plans to pick up Greta in Lutenberg, on his way back to Blood Pledge.

-oOo-

"Excuse me, Princess," said the commander. She was on the Pemunder River quay, helping people onto the launches. The troop escort was headed back to Big Tam's to escort the next batch, not downriver with the refugees. "I understand you're a Marshall's Assistant. What would you like done with the bandits?"

"Ah… I hadn't thought about it. Isn't it… your decision, Commander?"

"Not under Marshall Law, Ma'am. Or rather, summary execution, or hand over to a Marshall, but… You're here. You want 'em _'summarily executed'_?"

Greta was taken aback. _Me? Order eleven men and women put to death? I'm not sure even Yuuri's ever done that!_ Well, Yuuri had killed people directly, but not _ordered_ them put to death. "Could we… hand them over to the authorities in town…" Her voice trailed off, considering that town.

"I think they're leading citizens in _that_ town, Ma'am," the commander echoed her thoughts.

Greta sighed, and did what she actually suspected Yuuri would do. She asked, "What do you recommend, Commander?"

"Bring 'em back to town and hang 'em in the public square. I think it'll save trouble on the rest of my trips back and forth to the Pemunder. Ma'am."

_Yuuri would find another way._ But her eye caught Shibbel, trying to ignore the alpaca girl, who was spinning Plans about how two ex-herders with money could team up and… Shibbel clearly didn't like the girl much. _Those bandits would have happily killed Shibbel, to steal everything he'd earned, all he had left._ _No. Yuuri'd 'go Maou' on these cruel, petty monsters._

"Do it," she ordered the Commander. "As Assistant Marshall of the Center, I authorize you to execute these criminals. Please also send word to Brendan Lord Gratz, that this town needs some cleanup, when he gets the chance."

"Yes, Ma'am. Thank you, Ma'am." The commander turned to go.

"Wait, Commander?" Greta swallowed. "I've… forgotten your name. And I wish to commend your work to General Lord Teodor and your domain Lord. And to you – I'd like to commend the trooper you had watch me last night. He was wonderful. Your whole troop has been outstanding. Thank you."

The commander slowly smiled, in surprised gratitude. "I'm Commander Parzefal, Weller domain. Trooper Tostig is from Gratz." He bowed deeply, and left her, head up and standing tall.

_You may be wrong, Chichibert. I'm not sure I __**am**__ the same Greta who left home four days ago. I've blood on my hands now. I've flown a dragon to talk to people in hopeless situations. I've trudged 40 miles through ash and dust with common herders. And but for the grace of Yuuri, I'm no different from them. I think my own true brother is one of them. _

_I've learned what a ball gown is worth._

_ I think I've just learned how young I still am, how little I really know. And I thought I was ready to be Queen of Adreschulde?_

Of course, she was way ahead of Yuuri when he became Maou of Shin Makoku. But she didn't think of that.

-oOo-

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews fuel more chapters / stories. Honest!_


	11. Weller

**Kyou Kara Maou – The Disaster Up North**

Summary: Greta's marriage ball brings another round of Maou Wedding Curse, only worse. The family is torn apart by the worst disaster in Shin Makoku history. Will Greta marry after all? This chapter: Candidate Conrad.

_AN: Thanks to DemiDaemon and methos21 for the __**reviews!**_

**Chapter 11 – Weller**

_May 28th - the following evening_

"Not exactly the peaceful horseback ride to Lutenberg I promised you," Conrad said gallantly, bowing Greta into his office. Conrad kept a simple wood frame house in Lutenberg, just off the market square, for the Weller domain offices. His eyes narrowed as Shibbel reluctantly followed her in.

"Want I should entertain the spare, M'Lord?" Yozak offered, openly appraising Shibbel.

Shibbel stared back in alarm. Yozak was dressed as Miss Biceps the Secretary now, though he hadn't been down at the river wharf. _Don't see much o' men like that in the back forty, no sir!_

Conrad looked tempted, but said, "Shibbel, isn't it? You've already been assigned a bunk, yes? Good! No thank you, Yozak. That will be all for the moment."

Conrad bade them sit, and took his own. "So. Welcome to Lutenberg, Shibbel. I hope Greta has said good things about us."

_Not really._ Greta bit her lip. It had become clear along the way that Shibbel caught the jist of Greta and Adelbert's outburst back at Big Tam's. All the refugees were apprehensive about being sent off to the landless human pseudo-domain of Weller. And as Guya had warned them, Greta and Adelbert had made things worse. And from Uncle Conrad's – _Lord Weller's, dammit! –_ closed look, she surmised, _He already knows that._

"Mn," grunted Shibbel.

"I want to bring Shibbel back to Blood Pledge with me," announced Greta.

Shibbel frowned.

Conrad frowned. "Well. Perhaps when things are more settled," Conrad allowed. "Just now, the priority is to get Shibbel settled _here,_ isn't it. Shibbel?"

Shibbel scowled. "I dunno. Thinking about leaving Shin Makoku."

Greta looked at him, stunned. Well, OK, maybe she'd been a bit too high-handed, unilaterally suggesting she take him home with her to Blood Pledge, but… leave Shin Makoku?

"Thinking it's better in a human country?" Conrad suggested in understanding. He nodded thoughtfully, "It might be, for a full human like you. If you can find a place you fit in." He paused to let the hint sink in.

Shibbel completed the thought bitterly. "I don't fit in anywhere."

"I'm biased," said Conrad, "but I think you'll find you're in the right place. Here you're accepted, as you are. Weller and the Maou's hands are over you in protection. No one's going to chase you away, treat you worse, because you're different. Humans are in the minority, and the Mazoku rule in Shin Makoku. That's a fact, and no getting around it. But in the Weller domain towns, life is good for us.

"I know what it's like to be different, Shibbel. My mother's a demon Queen, so I'm privileged. To a point. But when I was your age, I traveled the human world with my father. We found outcast half-Mazoku, like me, and like Yozak, and brought them back here to safety. Most of them stayed. That picnic feast you just enjoyed down by the wharf - all potluck, brought by people just like you. Humans, half-Mazoku - refugees who found safe haven here in Lutenberg. They made their best party food to welcome you newcomers."

Greta'd wondered about that, how much money Conrad had put out for that astonishing spread. _None. Wow!_

"Was he somebody?" Shibbel asked. "Your human father?"

_You're somebody, Shibbel!_ Greta's heart protested. _Everybody's somebody!_ In this, Greta was very much Yuuri's daughter.

"Yes," Conrad supplied, "Sir Dan Hiri Weller, of Dai Cimarron. Hell of a swordsman. You? What are you good at, Shibbel?"

"Herding goats," Shibbel said glumly.

"Animal handler's an important skill," Conrad returned. "Can you manage a pack train?"

Shibbel looked more hopeful. "Easy."

"I hear you did well with some bandits on the way. How about joining the military?"

"Conrad!" Greta broke in. "He shouldn't have to fight!"

"Greta," Conrad warned. "Shibbel?"

"Thought about it. Army don't take people younger than sixty, though. No humans," he said bitterly.

"Weller has its own regiment," clarified Conrad. "We take grown men and women, whatever age they are."

"That'd be good," Shibbel allowed.

"No, Shibbel!" Greta butted in again. "We can get you a good job!"

Conrad rose and went to the door. "Greta. Perhaps you could wait outside while I finish interviewing my new Weller citizen." His face was schooled to blandness, but his eye glittered.

_He's furious at me,_ Greta realized. _Well, fine! I'm furious with him!_ She rose and left with what grace she could muster. Only to find a hostile Yozak waiting for her, big arms crossed, sitting on the secretary desk and tapping a size 12 high-heeled pump.

"Well, well," drawled Yozak. "So _pleased_ to hear you don't like Lutenberg. Guess you won't want to build a castle here, after all. Bit _rough _ to dump your attitude problem on the homeless, though, wasn't it? _Princess_."

Greta hadn't yet fully considered how Yozak might take Conrad's marriage proposal. When Manfred warned her about Conrad's pre-existing relationship, she'd simply thought _Conrad _was too honorable to '_cheat'_ on her. Yozak's honor, and _ingenuity_, were a different kettle of fish.

Fortunately their little glare-fest didn't last long. Conrad soon escorted Shibbel out, both seeming well content with each other.

"Any problems, Shibbel, let me know. I'm your Lord now, and you've the right to my ear. Don't forget to put that money safe in the bank, _tonight, _will you? Before you go, though – we're understandably curious about that tattoo. Could you let Yozak take a look at it? Thanks."

Shibbel looked to Yozak in consternation. Yozak endeavored to look friendly. Conrad ushered Greta back into his office.

-oOo-

They sat. They stared at each other. They spoke simultaneously. "Greta –" "Conrad –"

"_I'll_ go first," asserted Conrad. "So – how did it go with Adelbert? Have you considered his marriage proposal?"

_Hey, that's right!_ Greta remembered. _Conrad set me up!_ "Um, yes. It was very flattering. And… I love Chi – Adelbert, very much. But, I think… we decided against it. Actually, I think he's finally gotten together with Giesela."

Conrad's eyebrows rose, and he looked thoughtful. "Giesela's been interested in him a long time. Well, good for Adelbert. I trust you weren't hurt?"

"Mm-nn! I kind of… set them up. I mean, before I knew Adelbert, um, really felt romantic about me. And then…"

"I understand you also rejected Murata's proposal?"

"Y-yes." Greta had been distracted by Shibbel and the refugees. _That means I'm down to one last Shin Makoku proposal. Conrad. Who just agreed to let Manfred split the human Wincotts from the Mazoku!_

"I'm… concerned, about reports I've received about your opinion of Weller domain, Greta," said Conrad, seemingly changing the subject. "And just now, with Shibbel. You seemed very sure that he was being _abused_. I was _welcoming_ him to my domain, and making sure he got off on the right foot."

_He's angry at me. Well, I'm angry at him, too!_ Her heart quailed a bit, though - Uncle Conrad's wrath was a new experience. She stammered, "Manfred accepted all the Wincott Mazoku into Bielenfeld, but exiled the humans to Weller!"

" '_Exiled' ,_" Conrad echoed. "Greta. As humans and half-humans, they _always_ belonged to Weller domain. Weller protects everyone of human ancestry in Shin Makoku. Including _you,_ if anyone thought you needed protecting. As for _Manfred_, this was decided jointly with Aldrich, Erick, and myself, before I asked you to go to Gratz. Erick's taking in the rare races."

"Because Bielenfeld's racist!" Greta cried bitterly.

Conrad pursed his lips. "Partly. We were concerned for their safety in Bielenfeld."

"Safety?"

"Greta… Between Bielenfeld and Wincott, there are over a hundred thousand refugees. Most of whom _used_ to produce food, for Shin Makoku and beyond. Did you think Manfred assumed Wincott as a _power grab_? Greta – _he can't feed them._ When food riots start, who do you think they'll scapegoat? Manfred can't _protect_ them. _Of course_ he asked me to take responsibility for _my _ citizens! And if he hadn't asked first, I would have demanded it."

"But – humans should be free to live anywhere in Shin Makoku, in full safety and protection!"

"It's an imperfect world," answered Conrad. "I believe you ran into some of its _imperfections_ on the road to the Pemunder. And ordered my man to execute them, without trial."

"They were guilty! I saw them!"

"Yes, they were guilty of _assault_ and _attempted_ _theft,_" Conrad observed. "We don't typically apply the death penalty for _theft_." He let that sink in. "The purpose of a trial is to give everyone the opportunity to _cool off_, before sentencing, with an _impartial _judge. The fact that _you_ and your putative _brother _were attacked, _disqualifies_ you as a judge, Greta." He sighed. "Summary execution is permitted in an emergency. However, I think you'll find that you've made Yuuri and Hahaue very sad."

Greta's mouth opened to respond, then fell closed. _I did. I put thieves to death, who weren't guilty of murder. Yuuri and Cecilie wouldn't have done that. And… I did it with my authority as Marshall Cecilie's assistant. But I didn't go to Gratz as Cecilie's assistant. I went as Weller's representative._

Yozak knocked and stuck his head in. "I'd like to look over Greta's tattoo again," he explained. At Conrad's nod of acquiescence, he yanked Greta's shirt off her shoulder. He eyeballed. He squeezed. He prodded and pinched, more roughly than he might have before Conrad proposed to her.

Yozak shook his head. "They match, M'lord. Right down to the aging - probably both done in infancy, by one hell of an artist. It's hard to find one tattoo artist that good. Another good enough to counterfeit the first is damned unlikely. And the technique - really unusual. Like fine stitching, a continuous quilting thread rather than individual needle jabs. I've only seen that technique once before, on a seaman, on the -" Yozak's hand stroked above his pubic bone and down between his legs.

_Too much information! _ "- Where was the seaman from?" Conrad cut him off.

"Right. Well, don't know. I picked - um, met him in Freeport. He had a strange accent. And brown skin, come to think of it. Long time ago. Figured it was just a tan. Though now I think on it, it'd be odd, a seaman having a tan _there._ No idea where he was from," Yozak concluded. "But Greta and Shibbel being connected - that could well be."

"Greta, do you have any memory of a baby brother?"

"Yes," Greta whispered. "The blonde girl took care of a baby. And I called her Lara. I thought I remembered her as my mother, but…" She relayed Shibbel's story.

"Interesting. Well, we'll look into it," said Conrad. "But in the meantime, Greta, it's important that you realize a couple things. First, we still don't know that Shibbel's your brother. The sure thing that connects the two of you is the Suberian Syndicate.

"Second, in case he _is_ your brother, we have to keep an eye on him, _in Shin Makoku._ The last thing we need is the Syndicate kidnapping the brother of a Princess of Shin Makoku. And for that, the Lutenberg Legion is the best place for him. Or a factory workhouse here. Someplace he's under regular supervision, anyway."

"A _sweatshop!"_ Greta burst out, in spite of herself.

"What's a '_sweatshop_' ?" inquired Yozak. He was less exposed to Annissina's political activism.

"She means the workhouses," said Conrad, rolling his eyes a bit. "Greta – they're not _sweatshops!_ Phoebe von Bielenfeld set them up -"

"Phoebe hates humans!"

"- at _Hahaue's request,_" Conrad finished his sentence. In exasperation, he explained, "Greta… Phoebe was raised by Friedrich, who _invented_ the concept of Public Health and Welfare. Phoebe married _Wolfred_ and raised _Manfred_, Friedrich's successors as Lord PHeW." PH&W was pronounced '_phew'_ for short, because the alternative sounded like '_pfaugh'. "_Phoebe is on the board of nearly every workers' guild in the country, as an _honor._ She latched onto industry as a way to uplift the common demon, provide a basic standard of living and education and training, and a way to work themselves out of poverty. The workhouses are _communities,_ no more '_sweatshops'_ than any small town in Trondheim."

Conrad and Greta gazed at each other in dismay.

Yozak offered, "I could introduce Shibbel around the workhouse I grew up in, if you like. It's a nice place. Friendly. They make clothes." He eyed Greta's attire, and straightened the black seam running down the back of his hose. "Off the shelf stuff for working people. Nothing _you'd_ wear. I think Shibbel's already taken with the army packtrain idea, though. Wasn't too happy taking a bunk indoors, in summer."

Greta couldn't resist asking. "What did you do? In the clothing factory."

"Helped Mama design women's clothes. Sewed her mockups," Yozak answered coolly. He fingered his dress collar. Today's little number featured a large squarish sailor's collar over a knee-length dark purple straight woolen sheath. Puffy-topped cuffed elbow-length sleeves added a padded shoulder effect, rather redundant on Yozak's physique. "Comes in handy," he drawled.

Greta blinked. This shed a whole new light on Yozak's transvestitism. _It's just like Guya spying under elf glamor! Or, well, maybe not entirely…_

"Oh, Conrad," said Yozak, "Yuuri'll be at the dock in 15 minutes or so."

"Right, we'll be out in a minute," said Conrad. Yozak left. Conrad ran his hand through his hair, tiredly.

_He's turning grey,_ thought Greta. Half-Mazoku kept better than humans, though not so well as full Mazoku._ He looks 45 now, but he's more like a 65-year-old man already._ Her uncles were like the furniture of her life. She couldn't recall when it was, that Conrad grew older than Gwendal. _He may be older than his mother, now._

As though in response to her thoughts, Conrad said, "Greta… with all that's going on, with the disaster up north, I… feel I need to withdraw my proposal. I don't feel able to consider marriage at this time. With respect. I'm sorry." He bowed to her. "I'll let Yuuri know." Not Wolfram, no – it would be _far_ easier for Conrad to tell Yuuri.

In a way, Greta felt relieved. She'd rarely felt so thoroughly chewed out in her life, the more so because she was kicking _herself_ for her foolish gaffes. And Conrad had found such a polite way of turning her down. _Face it, Greta,_ she told herself. _He just turned you down because he realized you were too young for him. And… he's right._

She wanted to ask why he'd asked her to marry him. Where he'd planned to build Castle Weller. Whether he believed Shibbel was her brother.

But instead she stood, and humbly curtseyed. "I understand," she said softly. "Lord Weller – I apologize. You trusted me with a mission, and I botched it, badly. I see that now. I thank you for the opportunity. I learned a lot, I promise you. And I will not make those mistakes again."

He smiled sadly, crow's feet wrinkles showing at eyes, lines around his mouth. "I know, Greta. Apology accepted."

"And – Uncle Conrad?" Yes, that was a relief, simply calling him Uncle Conrad again. "Please – you will look after Shibbel? I understand, he may not be my real brother, but… He's the closest I may ever get to a real brother, and… I care about him."

"I understand. I promise, Greta. And – Greta? I hope you realize… you can wait, too, you know. Even if you have no more suitors now in Shin Makoku. The human world, in my lifetime… they've come a long way. And in Yuuri's world, I've seen their potential. But still, Shin Makoku is my home. For all its flaws, and even as a half-Mazoku. You're always free to stay here, and marry or not, as you please."

And she saw in his eyes, and in the life he'd led, that it was true. Despite Shin Makoku's racism, Conrad was a true patriot.

-oOo-

Yozak held Conrad back for a word, while Greta rushed down to the river quay, yearning to see Yuuri again.

"Got some birds while you were _chatting_," Yozak said, and handed him the notes. "Günter and Lord Krist are in charge at Blood Pledge now. Gorham von Gratz took over Adelbert's refugee sector. Ted's still running the Wincott evac. But Alana took Erick, Adelbert, Gwendal – all the earth majutsu heavy-hitters who could be spared. Adelbert and Brendan are holding Gratz Pass. Gwendal and Erick and Hasgrud have the Escarpment. Alana's back in Trond Hall. She's relaxed the borders with the troll reservation – they're helping with the rest of Trondheim. Seems like the new epicenter's near Twinhall." The major Trond lumbermill city of Twinhall – Lord Erick's childhood home – was near the top of Gratz Pass.

"Any rumors flying yet?" asked Conrad.

"No. The few that notice the temblors, figure they're still aftershocks from Wincott."

"How bad?"

Yozak handed him a notice from Alana, addressed to all the Marshalls and Lords. _Nothing serious – yet._ Conrad crumpled the note and burned it, with his little bit of Bic lighter majutsu, picked up at the rebirth of the phoenix. "We'll keep it quiet as long as we can. And keep those launches moving. And swap the order – next load to Abercrombie, not Bruscella."

Yozak nodded. Then he eyed Conrad, waiting.

Conrad sighed. "I assume you heard all that? Of course you did. So. It's over with Greta. Are we OK now?"

Yozak sidled up facing him, one leg extended next to Conrad's, silky-hosed calf rubbed alongside his. In his heels, Yozak was a couple inches taller. He traced Conrad's cheek with a finger. He smiled an aggressive bedroom smile.

And he hauled off and backhanded Conrad across the face. A backhanded slap did _not_ count as a marriage proposal. _**"No, we're not 'OK now'**__! __**Royal ASS."**_And he turned on his pump heel and left to send the kohi.

-oOo-

"Ah…!" Yuuri voiced dismay, as Greta unburdened her self-flagellation at all the _many_ things Conrad had chewed her out over. It was late. She'd clung to him through much glad-handing amongst the refugees, and introduced him to Shibbel. She'd let go while Conrad took him aside for a quiet word. But she'd watched anxiously through the parlor doorway, where they were housed at the Lutenberg Mayor's mansion. Yuuri's grim and alarmed face during that interchange prompted her to finally get her father alone to tell him her troubles.

"So what did Conrad _say?"_ she… wailed. Yes, it was mortifying – she was twenty years old, a grown woman seeking a royal marriage, and she… _wailed._

"Ah, we mostly talked about the evacuation," Yuuri dissembled. They'd actually discussed the new earthquakes in Trondheim. "Status of refugees, food stocks and stuff. About you, just what you'd already told me. It's too chaotic right now for him to consider marriage."

"Yes, but didn't you _ask?"_ _Wolfram_ would have understood! Yuuri was maddening!

"Ask… what?" The way her face crumpled made clear that wasn't the right response. "Ah, Greta-chan! Don't worry! You're beating yourself up _way_ too much, honey! So, you made a few mistakes. Everyone does."

"I m-m-_murdered_ –"

"Shh, now! No! No. That wasn't murder, Greta-chan. That was… It was what it was. You'd never thought it through before. You were called on to make a decision you weren't trained to make, and you made it. Next time, if there is a next time, you'll be more prepared. Ah, maybe that sounds callous, men died, but… It's not as though they were concerned about _your_ health and well-being. And if they'd gone to Brendan for judgment, he might have executed them, too. Conrad would have killed them in the first place, without taking prisoners. As a king… I've had a lot of decisions like that thrust on me, when I was too young and untrained. You do the best you can, and learn.

"Ah, I'm making a hash of this," Yuuri continued, rubbing his head. "Greta-chan… You made mistakes. Some were bad ones, OK. But Conrad was too rough on you. But then again, Conrad's got stuff on his mind, too, you know? We're all… really stressed. But also… _'judge not lest ye be judged', 'what goes around comes around'_, and like that, you know?"

She shook her head no. _Yuuri, you're not making sense._

"Ah, Conrad… There's Yozak, you know? Conrad… he's embarrassed, by Yozak. So he asked you to be Lady Weller, to increase _his _prestige and respectability. And then… he got embarrassed, by you. But it's like he was really taking out his frustrations with Yozak, on you… It's worse than dating someone on the rebound. Because he hasn't reached the rebound yet. He's… Just let Conrad go, and realize… That wasn't all directed at you. OK?"

Greta's eyes were wide. "Yuuri, you are… You're so wise sometimes!" She flung her arms around him for a hug.

When they let go, Greta said sadly, "Now I've no suitors left in Shin Makoku."

Yuuri rubbed his head again, and said, tentatively, "Ah, I didn't really understand why you kept considering your _'uncles'_, anyway, Greta-chan. Weren't you sweet on Robichaud?"

Greta's face crumpled again. "Yes," she whispered. "But what would he think of me now?"

"Greta… Do you think I love Wolfram because he's perfect? Do you think Wolfram thinks _I'm_ perfect? _'Wimpue'_? Love's not like that, honey. If you still think Robichaud is _'perfect'_, well, you're not seeing him as a man, yet."

Greta chuckled in spite of herself. "I thought he was arrogant and obnoxious. And his scar is kinda off-putting. And that nasty virgin-eating god of his, Shadrach of the volcano."

"Oh, good! And, you like him anyway, right? That's fine, then. Have you… written to him? You know, get to know each other better. It's hard, a long distance relationship." Yuuri's relationship with Wolfram had gone nowhere until Yuuri settled down and stayed reliably in the same world. "Don't, ah, do the self-flagellation thing in a letter, though, right? That's a real turn-off for a guy. Just, tell him what you've been doing, what Liesel's been up to, some of the things you've learned, with dignity. And he'll be back soon."

"Write to him! Yuuri, you're a genius!" she cried, and flung her arms around him again.

Yuuri enjoyed the embrace fully. _Yeah, I was right. This was one parenting job I could do better than Wolfram._

_Though, I wish he were here. She'll be with us such a short time more._

-oOo-

_May 30__th__, Blood Pledge Castle, Shin Makoku_

_Dear Robichaud,_

_I hope it's alright to address you 'Dear Robichaud'. I've torn up three letters trying to decide. But if it's not OK, I trust you'll tell me so. And I enjoy reading 'Dear Greta'._

_Liesel is well. I was away for a few days in Gratz, and when I got back, Frieda was gone to visit Gratz, too. Adelbert's family has finally accepted her. One of those blessings of Shadrach in time of adversity, I guess you'd call it. It's so strange, though, to come home, to find half the family missing. I fear Liesel got a bit bored, with only Ekaterin and the boys to play with. But my grandmother Cecilie taught her to throw darts. Frieda was so mad, because Liesel's __better__ at it! Liesel's sure you'll be so proud of her, learning to 'fight like Mommy', as she put it. Do try to act surprised and pleased?_

_I've remembered my promise to you, to 'become ready to decide'. I had a few other suitors, from Shin Makoku, including Adelbert and Conrad, whom you know. To stay in Shin Makoku is compelling, especially now in its time of need. Our people's plight pulls at my heart. Yet the more closely I work with the refugees, the more conscious I become, that much as I love Yuuri and his people – I am human, not one of them, not from around here. I considered putting aside this marriage search, until the national emergency was past. But, then there are the candidates beyond Shin Makoku – you, and no one else._

_We have allies. In our time of greatest need, those allies have not offered significant aid. You, who are not our ally, who are indeed allied with Dai Cimarron, our sometime enemy, offer help. Our allies hoard their food, because we can't send them any. You offer food, and help, when you owe us nothing, except as a matter of honor with your god. I don't fault our allies for not sending marriage proposals, of course. They simply assume the matter is on hold, as it probably should be. But – would I entertain proposals of marriage later, from 'allies' who did not help us now? Probably. But not as happily as I once might have. Another of Shadrach's barbed blessings, perhaps – clarity._

_I've decided that the decision is between you, and not marrying at this time. That's all the decision that can be made, until you return. In the meantime, I enjoy Liesel's company. She is so smart and sweet. You and Desirea must have loved her well, to raise such a beautiful person. I admire your parenting._

_We have so little time to get to know each other. I hope that letters can make up for that, somewhat. _

_My trip to Gratz, to help rescue human refugees from the disaster in Wincott, was eventful._

…

_Love, Greta_

-oOo-

_May 31st, Dai Cimarron Capital Harbor_

Robichaud read and re-read the letter voraciously. The solemn ruler mistrusted the way his heart sang at frivolities, like being addressed _'Dear Robichaud'_. Or Liesel learning to throw darts. Greta's compliments were well targeted, and struck home. And Robichaud missed Liesel more keenly than he'd expected. He schooled himself to consider the letter's content more cautiously. But his heart sang, nevertheless.

_Shibbel,_ his head finally settled down to ponder. He'd asked Adelbert, of course, about Greta's birth parentage. Adelbert had told them of their dead end research, for a blonde mother and a presumably much darker skinned father. He'd forgotten to ask to see the tattoo. It didn't really occur to him at the time, that her complexion was rare on this continent.

On a thought, Robichaud noticed the date again. _I received this in __**one**__ day?! Greta, you need to learn what constitutes a state secret!_

The more personal aspects of the letter could wait. But they were due to sail for Adreshulde on the tide in a few hours. _I need to talk to Edvar. But first…_

He sent for that replacement seaman they'd picked up at Blood Pledge, Tompierre.

"Have a seat, spy."

-oOo-

_Please, please, __**please **__review? Reviews fuel more chapters / stories. Honest!_


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